An Amethyst Remembrance
by Richard Lawson
Summary: Phoebe is married, Chandler and Monica have moved out of the city, Ross and Rachel are struggling to build a new life, and Joey is alone. They all have to adjust to a life vastly different from the one they have known for ten years. Final chapter up.
1. Part I

I held a jewel in my fingers  
And went to sleep  
The day was warm, and winds were prosy;  
I said: " 'Twill keep."  
  
I woke and chid my honest fingers, --  
The gem was gone;  
And now an amethyst remembrance  
Is all I own.  
  
-Emily Dickenson  
  
---  
  
An Amethyst Remembrance  
  
by Richard Lawson  
  
---  
  
Joey Tribbiani re-read the lines another time, then sighed and let the pages fall closed. No real need to spend any more time with them. He only had three lines in one scene.  
  
Instead, he looked around the apartment. So much emptier without Rachel's things. So many gaps and spaces where her stuff used to be. Two weeks it had been, and he still didn't have the courage to try and replace them. It felt sacrilegious somehow.  
  
It wasn't like she was far away. The move to Paris had turned into a move across the street into Ross's apartment. He'd run into her a couple of times at the coffee house already. But it felt different, they were no longer everyday buddies, just good friends that saw each other occasionally. And that was not something he really wanted to accept.  
  
With an even heavier sigh, he got up and forced himself to clean out Chick Jr. and Duck Jr.'s box. They were both growing very quickly. He wondered how big they would get before Monica and Chandler saw them again.  
  
When that was done, he looked around one more time. With an annoyed grunt, he decided he needed to get out. Some new scenery would make a world of difference.  
  
Grabbing his jacket - summer hadn't quite taken hold yet - he stormed out the door. As he opened the door, his eyes fell on the numbered door opposite his. As always, his stomach lurched. That door had barely been a barrier before, just a momentary delay before going inside to the company of people he knew so well. Now some other couple, in their early fifties by the look of them, had taken over the apartment. They had smiled when he'd introduced himself to them but had quickly ended the conversation. They seemed to want to be left alone. Their apartment was now and forever off-limits to him.  
  
It was too much. All these changes, all of them bad. Great, but bad. Everyone was growing up and growing apart. Everyone had kids now. Everyone.  
  
The hundred steps took him to the coffee house. He looked around, but no Rachel, no Ross. Chandler promised to stop by during lunch once he returned to work, but that wouldn't be for another month. Stupid paternity leaves.  
  
To his great surprise, though, he saw very familiar long blonde hair spilling down the head of someone sitting at the couch. A smile split his face, and he walked around the end of the couch to sit in a chair facing it. "Hey Pheebs."  
  
"Hey!" Phoebe Buffay-Hannigan grinned at him. In all his years of knowing her, Joey found himself enjoying each and every wide, tooth-filled smile she gave. Watching her smile had become one of his favorite pastimes.  
  
"So watcha doing?" Joey looked over at the bar, to see one of the servers looking at him questioningly. He nodded and she began making his usual blend.  
  
"Oh, kinda of just hanging out. I don't have any appointments until three, and I thought, why not come here?" Her smile dimmed slightly as she looked around. "Of course, there was a reason not to come here. All the positive energy is gone."  
  
Joey frowned, took a large cup from the server, and looked around. The customers around him didn't look unusually unhappy. "You're saying none of these people is, y'know, feeling good?"  
  
"Oh, they are pretty much... except for him and him." She pointed at two men sitting near the window. "But... it's not fulfilling. It's not directed at me anymore. It's like the building is saying, go away, you don't belong here any more, I prefer younger perkier people."  
  
A kind of cold feeling settled around Joey. He was over thirty but not yet forty, and other than that he didn't like to be too specific. Phoebe was a couple of years older than he was, and although she was still hot, he could see lines beginning to form around her eyes and her neck was no longer the perfectly smooth elegant thing it used to be. The familiar resentment began to grow inside him. Why did people have to grow old? It made no sense.  
  
"Well, you should have called me," he managed to say. "I could have come and filled it up with all sorts of energy. I'd grab the building by the arm and tell it, you better like my friend Phoebe or there's gonna be trouble!"  
  
Phoebe's diminishing smile was revived temporarily. "That's sweet, but you can't tell buildings things like that. They have a way of ignoring what you want and doing their own thing."  
  
A bit of despair welled up. "Well, you still should have called me. No need to sit here all by yourself."  
  
"Well, I did want to think." Phoebe picked up her own cup and held it in front of her face, not drinking from it. "And I wanted to think in a warm, happy place. But I can't go to the apartment because it's not our place to go to any more, and I can't go to your place because it's too close, the other apartment misses us too much and I'd hear it crying. So I thought this would be the nice place, but it's not anymore. I don't have any happy places any more."  
  
"Ah, c'mon Pheebs." Joey cast about desperately. "What about your place? That's happy, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes." Phoebe looked down at her cup, then put it on the table. "But it's too full of Mike, and I needed to think in a place that isn't screaming Mike all the time."  
  
"Why? What's wrong? You guys aren't having problems are you?" Joey tried to recall the last time he'd seen Phoebe and Mike. Just before Chandler and Monica had moved. They had seemed really happy, still in that post-wedding haze.  
  
"Problems?" Phoebe looked at Joey, her eyes slowly focusing on his. "No, no problems. But you see, I'm pregnant, and I'm not certain we're really ready for that."  
  
Joey's eyes widened. "Pregnant?"  
  
"Yeah." She picked up her cup, tipped it slightly so he could look inside. "Herbal tea, see? No more coffee."  
  
Blankly, Joey stared at it. "But, but I thought you guys wanted kids! You told him you wanted a whole bunch!"  
  
"Well, not right away!" Phoebe set the cup on the table a little forcibly. "I don't even have the musical score ready and the Germans haven't declared war yet!"  
  
Joey blinked again. Phoebe's thought processes could be flaky but they usually followed some internal logic. This particular chain he couldn't quite follow. "Pheebs?" he tried prompting.  
  
"It's too soon!" She paused. "It doesn't... feel right."  
  
"Er, why not?"  
  
"I don't know." Phoebe clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. "I don't know that... we've... connected enough for this. We're still too separate, he's still a stranger."  
  
"Oh, c'mon." Joey couldn't keep the irritation from his face. "He knows us! He's played a game with Monica, heard Chandler tell a badly-timed joke, had hours of conversation alone with Ross, and he still loves you. There aren't many guys in the world like that... hold on to him!"  
  
Phoebe's smile was genuine but still a bit restrained. "You're sweet, you always were."  
  
"Were? Still am!" Joey thumped his chest proudly.  
  
"Of course." She stood up and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks. Now, I think I have to go tell him."  
  
"Right now?"  
  
Phoebe hesitated. "Maybe not... right now. Maybe in a day or two. Or three." She whirled abruptly and left.  
  
Morosely, Joey sipped at his coffee. It was all falling apart, everywhere. Phoebe, how could Phoebe be worried? He hadn't realized how much he'd been looking forward to being put in a good mood because of her. Now he was only slipping deeper into a funk.  
  
Sipping his coffee, Joey did something he tried to avoid as much as possible: he thought deeply about the future.  
  
---  
  
Ross Geller stared at his computer, unable to believe what he was reading. Where did these students come up with such stuff? Viciously he began adding his inline comments to the document. Learn your Permian Gastropoda, fella.  
  
The apartment door opened. A woman strode in, carrying an unbelievable number of shopping bags even for her. "Oh my God, what a day."  
  
Ross couldn't help eyeing the packages. "I thought you got all your clothes back from France."  
  
"But they're not right." Rachel Green dropped the bags, which fell all over the floor, and randomly began pulling stuff out of them. "I have to where a whole new wardrobe for this job, which means a whole new set of accessories, which means new jewelry, new makeup, everything. Do you like this scarf?"  
  
"It's great." His eyes were drawn towards Emma, who was already reaching into one of the bags. With a delighted squeal she pulled out a shoe and began shaking it.  
  
"Not the Stuart Weitzman!" Rachel carefully stepped through the bags and gently took the shoe. As Emma said, "Hey!", Rachel began haphazardly pushing various bags aside. She finally found what she was looking for and extracted a plushie alligator. She handed it to Emma, who took it uncertainly. Gently, Rachel turned Emma around and guided her away from the bags. "Isn't that silly? It looks like the stuff Daddy's always digging up, doesn't it?"  
  
Ross bit back an urge to comment that he didn't dig anything up and that alligators were not part of his field of study. The distraction was working as Emma began to shake the alligator while giggling at it.  
  
Rachel turned back to the bags and grabbed a few of them by the handles. "I had soooo much to shop for, it's not even funny."  
  
"No, it's not. Is that why you missed dinner?"  
  
"Oh, please, Ross." She spun and left the room.  
  
Thinning his lips, Ross turned back to the computer. He typed a few more choice comments, paused, erased them, then closed the document. Now was not the time.  
  
Rachel strode back in, grabbed a few more. "So are you going to help or what?"  
  
Ross worked his jaw a bit but stood up. He grabbed a few of the bags and followed Rachel back into the bedroom. Already she had a pile of empty bags to one side and assorted clothes on the bed. Rachel dropped the bags she was carrying on the bed, began pulling out their contents and placing them in certain areas on the bed.  
  
Ross simply stood there. While he didn't have Rachel's experience with shopping, he knew enough to know this wasn't cheap. "So exactly how much money did you spend?"  
  
"Oh, I charged all of it. I'd made some room on my credit cards for what I'd need to buy in Paris but when that didn't happen, I could use it all for this." Rachel spun a skirt around in her hands, examining it closely for no reason Ross could fathom.  
  
"Y'know, just because you have room on your credit cards, that doesn't mean you should use it."  
  
"I told you I need to!" Rachel spared him a cross glance. "I'm going to be a seller, which means I have to wear a whole different set of clothes and make a entirely different statement with them. It's important for what I'm going to need to do." She threw the skirt back into the bag it had come from and tossed the bag back towards the door.  
  
"Rachel." Ross carefully tried to control his tone. "We have to be careful about spending money. We will need to spend a lot on Emma, and we need to have a reserve for emergencies. We can't just spend it all on frivolities."  
  
"These are not frivolities!" Rachel spun on him. "They're what I need to do my job. And when they start paying me, then I'll have enough money for Emma and your precious reserve."  
  
"Can you really say that all this stuff..." Ross waved his hands around, "...is absolutely necessary for your job?"  
  
"Yes, it absolutely is! Except for that skirt." Rachel turned her head to the side, looked down on the bed. "And maybe this scarf. And the diamond earrings."  
  
"Diamond earrings!" Ross felt his eyes go wide.  
  
"All right, all right, I'll return them." Rachel brushed past him towards the living room. "And a couple of the other things."  
  
Ross followed her. "And you won't buy anything else?"  
  
"Oh be quiet." Rachel was now carefully selecting a few bags. "I know we don't have all the money in the world, but I really do need some of this stuff, so leave me alone."  
  
Ross glanced at Emma, who was currently testing the limits of how far she could open the alligator's mouth. "Please don't yell in front of the baby."  
  
"I'd stop yelling if you'd stop criticizing." Rachel straightened, shot him a glare, and stalked back into the bedroom with a double handful of bags.  
  
Ross retained just enough sense to know that to follow her would be to just allow the arguing to continue. Instead, he sat cross-legged by Emma. He started asking Emma to point out the alligator's eyes, ears, and nose. She responded enthusiastically, and Ross smiled and allowed his worries to dissipate as he spent time with his daughter.  
  
---  
  
Chandler Bing was always tired.  
  
Through eyes that desperately wanted to close, he watched Jack slowly begin to stir. The stirring would soon lead to crying. Then Chandler would have to Jack out of the crib and feed him. Again.  
  
From the other side of the room, Monica called out gently but firmly. "You may as well get him out of there now and start him on the bottle. No sense waiting for him to start screaming first."  
  
"If he's anything like me, he'll appreciate the extra few seconds of sleep." Nevertheless, Chandler lifted the baby out of the crib. Jack began to fuss more and more as Chandler carried him across the room. Sitting next to his wife, Chandler took the remaining bottle from a nearby table and pressed the nipple against Jack's mouth. Jack immediately began suckling on it, to Chandler's relief. No screaming after all.  
  
"Good job, Bing." Monica shifted slightly, elevating Erica a little bit as she fed from her own bottle, and yawned mightily.  
  
Chandler smiled. "Just be glad we don't have to use your breasts for this. That would keep you up."  
  
"Be quiet or we start using your nipples," Monica snapped in a good-natured manner. She looked up at Chandler. "Although... I kinda wish I could, y'know?"  
  
"Yeah." Chandler inwardly began berating himself. This was not a subject he should have broached. Their infertility was still a source of pain for Monica, which even their newly-adopted children couldn't quite salve. "Maybe it'll happen eventually."  
  
"You just want an excuse to keep me all sexed up." Monica lifted a corner of her mouth and looked back down at Erica. "And maybe it will. But this is enough for now."  
  
For now. Words with a slightly ominous tone to them. Chandler, through long practice, decided to ignore that for now. They'd deal with the problem if and when it came up. "So when do they actually sleep through the night?"  
  
"Not for a while, I'm afraid." Monica seemed just as eager for a subject change. "So get used to being tired. It's the price of living with babies."  
  
"Hah. I'm not worried about this. This is the least of my worries. I'm worried that Jack will end with a tattoo that says 'I Hate Dad' and whether or not Erica will be wearing a helmet when she stands up on the back of her boyfriend's motorcyle."  
  
Monica chuckled. "You're just a few years ahead of yourself."  
  
"I know. I'll have plenty of things that will give me a nervous breakdown long before then."  
  
Monica's smile dimmed slightly. "Afraid?"  
  
Chandler look up, met her eyes. "A little."  
  
"A little?"  
  
"Okay, a lot." He bit his lip. "I know moving out here was necessary, I know it was a positive step in our life, I know all the blah-blah-blah about why we needed to do this, but... well, I feel like we're doing a jig on a tightrope without a safety net." Chandler sighed. "They're all in the city and we're here."  
  
"I know." Monica seemed to be struggling with something, then finally looked away. "I'm scared too. Did you have to make me say that?"  
  
Chandler smiled affectionately. "Sorry. I just... need to know if I'm overreacting or not. To know that you feel the same things I do... that helps me a lot."  
  
Monica looked back, a pleased expression on her face. "Good. Validation, that's a good concept. We should do more of that."  
  
"God, I hope not." Chandler looked back down at Jack. "If I wasn't suffering from at least three or four irrational fears I don't know what I'd do with myself."  
  
Monica laughed. Chandler kept the smile on his face and realized that he felt a lot better. No matter what happened, he and Monica would get through it, he was more certain of that than ever.  
  
He just hoped the same would prove true for everyone else they'd left behind.  
  
---  
  
(to be continued)  
  
---  
  
Author's Notes: I anticipate this to be a four-part series at present, perhaps five. We'll see. Any comments you have about this story would be greatly appreciated. 


	2. Part II

Ross stared at the computer screen some more. No one had told him that being a professor would entail so much reading of badly-written papers. How any of these people passed high school English was beyond him. If he saw another their/there mistake he was going to fail the lot of them.  
  
He forced himself to stand up and walk across his apartment to the window. The room was empty, Rachel having taken Emma for a walk. He appreciated the silence; he had a ton of papers to grade before Monday. Yet for some reason he couldn't really focus the way he needed to.  
  
Ross looked across the street to the familiar bay window. There were curtains draped across it now, and they were almost always closed. A fitting symbol of what had changed; that apartment had been the center of his life for such a long time, and now it was forever closed to him.  
  
On an impulse, he turned, grabbed his keys from the table, and left. He quickly made his way across the street and knocked on a door.  
  
It opened and Joey grinned. "Hey. Since when do you need to knock?"  
  
"I, I don't know. Things are so different now, it doesn't feel right to... be so casual." Ross followed Joey into the apartment, sat on a stool in the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah." Joey turned off the television and sat opposite Ross. "I remember thinking when I first moved here how stupid the hot women across the hall were for never locking their apartment during the day."  
  
"Anyone who tried to attack Monica would be in for a surprise." Ross tried a smile.  
  
Joey's smile seemed a little forced itself. Then he brightened. "Hey, did you hear about Phoebe?"  
  
Ross raised his eyebrows. "No, what?"  
  
"She's pregnant."  
  
"Wow, that's great." Ross's smile was now genuine. "We should throw a party for her."  
  
Joey's expression quickly sobered. "Better wait on that a bit. She hasn't told Mike yet."  
  
"Oh? Why not?"  
  
"Not sure, really. She seemed... I dunno... not excited."  
  
"Well, it's a big change for her." Ross stared beyond Joey at nothing at all. "Her whole life is about to become focused entirely on her child. She's not going to have as much time for Mike... or us... or herself, even. Given, given the way she's lived her life until now, that's going to... take some adjustment."  
  
Ross continued staring at nothing for a while. Then a surprisingly gentle voice said, "What's wrong, man?"  
  
His eyes focused on Joey, who had a concerned expression on his face. Ross suddenly realized this was the whole reason he had come over here, and the words started tumbling out. "It's, it's Rachel. And me. I don't, I don't know if... our relationship... is going the right way."  
  
"Oh come on!" Joey sounded frustrated. "You guys worked so hard to get back together, why are you trying to screw it up now?"  
  
"We're, we're not... trying to. It, it's just..." Ross sighed. "It's like we went from being friends to being a couple that's been, like, married for years and years. I mean, we love each other, there's no question of that, but there's... no heat."  
  
"No heat?" Joey shook his head. "I walk between you two, and I catch on fire. How can you say there's no heat?"  
  
"For the first day or so, there was, we were both so happy. Then..." Ross shook his head. "We bicker over little things. It's not much, it's not like we yell or anything. But... well, that's how it started with Carol. First the heat ran out, then we started bickering, then fighting, and then... then it was over. I, I'm afraid... Rachel and I have started the same thing, just... just more accelerated."  
  
Joey stood up, walked once around the apartment, then sat back down opposite Ross. "Look, dude, let me tell you about my life."  
  
Ross smiled without humor. "I think I know about your life."  
  
"No you don't, not... not the way I mean. Look..." Joey seemed to be struggling for words. "I got heat, I got lots of heat, every week there's a new woman, we burn down entire forests. And then it goes out, and I move on, trying to find more heat. But I... I don't got... I've never had what you guys have."  
  
Joey leaned forward, staring intently at Ross. "You and Rachel, you had that heat when you first went out, except it kept going and going, I kept waiting for it to die out and was just amazed that it didn't. You had the heat right until you broke up, and even then it never went out, it just kind of smoldered. It seemed like every year it would erupt again, then die back down. Ross." Joey's voice was hard, unyielding. "You guys belong together. You've got a kind of long-burning love that I never found in twenty years of messing around. Don't be fooled if it seems to cool down a bit, just stoke the embers and it'll blaze right up. Trust me."  
  
Ross blinked at Joey. That was an amazing speech. Joey was like this, someone who fumbled with the meaning of basic words sometimes, but was quite capable of speaking passionately and eloquently when provoked.  
  
With an effort, Ross pushed back his reaction to Joey's soliloquy and tried to focus on his words. It sounded like an interesting analysis. He wanted to believe it was true. "But... I mean, maybe, maybe we're too intense. We, we seem to bring out the worst in each other sometimes, I mean there's heat but sometimes it's... it's the wrong kind of heat."  
  
"Oh for the love of Pete!" Joey bounced to his feet. "You're the smartest guy I know and you're still a moron. Do you really have to invent reasons not to stay with her?"  
  
Ross blinked. Joey was unusually angry. "I'm, I'm not inventing-"  
  
"Yes you are! You've been doing it for years, both of you have." Joey was gesticulating quite a bit, and Ross leaned back to avoid getting inadvertently smacked. "You guys have no idea how frustrating it's been for us to watch from the outside. There's every reason in the world for you guys to end up together, yet you both go out of your way to keep yourselves apart. Just get over it man!"  
  
Joey reached over and grabbed Ross's shirt. "You love her, she loves you, and that's enough. Just remember why you went chasing after her in the airport, and everything else will work itself out. If you don't try to screw it up."  
  
Ross looked down, unable to match Joey's righteous outrage. "If you say so," he said forlornly.  
  
"I do!" Joey released his shirt, sat back down. "Now get back there and have some sex. And if you happen to do it in the living room with the curtains open, I'll consider myself repaid for the advice."  
  
This caused Ross to look up with a smile. "You can't see us from your apartment."  
  
"What, like there isn't a roof?" Joey was fighting off a grin.  
  
"Anyway, Rachel isn't there," Ross said. "Thanks, man. Sorry I bothered you on a Saturday."  
  
"Bah. It's not like I've got a lot to do." Joey lifted a script from the counter. "Two scenes, and I only speak in one."  
  
Ross frowned. "Are they phasing you out?"  
  
"I don't know. I didn't want to ask."  
  
"Maybe, maybe you should start looking around. Have something else lined up."  
  
"Well, I'd need an agent first."  
  
"You don't have an agent?" Ross looked at Joey incredulously.  
  
"Well, after Estelle, it didn't seem right to go to anyone else," Joey said defensively.  
  
"Look, Estelle would want you to succeed. Call someone. You're a soap opera star, I'm sure there's a ton of agencies that would sign you in an instant."  
  
"Maybe." Joey seemed thoughtfully pleased by the prospect. "Imagine, agencies fighting to represent me!"  
  
"Uh, well, don't let it go to your head. Just find one that will take you and go with it."  
  
"Yeah." Joey took his cell phone out of his pocket, turned it on. "What's the number for William Morris?"  
  
Ross shook his head in bemusement. "I don't know. Look it up."  
  
"Okay." Joey grinned. "Wanna stick around and order pizza?"  
  
"I'd love to, but another time. Rachel and Emma will be back soon." Ross stood up.  
  
"Uh, yeah, I suppose so." Joey's smile dimmed slightly. "Say hi, and remember what I said."  
  
"I will. Thanks Joey." Ross lifted his hand as a farewell, then turned and left.  
  
He wasn't sure what he was feeling. He didn't know how to react to what Joey said. But he did know that he was going to think about it, and in the meantime try to keep himself in check.  
  
Because Joey was right: he really did love Rachel. And he desperately wanted that to be enough.   
  
---  
  
Monica watched the babies sleep, frightened by how much she loved them. It was so intense, and had happened so quickly. She wasn't certain it was a good thing, but she certainly wasn't going to try and change her feelings. She liked intensity.  
  
In an attempt to focus her mind on other things, she walked out of the nursery, taking the monitor out of its charger and clipping it to her belt loop as she walked. Chandler was out shopping so it was just her and the twins.  
  
Brightening, she walked into the den and grabbed the phone. She dialed a number and waited. Soon, Phoebe's voice answered, "Hello?"  
  
"Hi!"  
  
"Oh, hi! How are the babies?"  
  
"They're great. They're sleeping right now." Monica walked into the living room and sat on the couch. "Speaking of babies..." She left the sentence hanging.  
  
"Oh, I suppose Joey told you."  
  
"Joey told Ross who told me. Isn't it wonderful?"  
  
"Uh, yeah." Phoebe's voice was less enthusiastic than Monica had been expecting. "Yeah, it's wonderful, the miracle of birth and all that, except, you know, I've done it three times already so it's not great. Uh huh. Yes, it was all at one time, but still, the thrill is gone, you know?"  
  
Monica blinked. Phoebe was babbling, and Phoebe rarely babbled. "What's wrong?"  
  
"What's wrong? Who says anything is wrong?" Phoebe spoke in a curious sort of tone. "I mean, yeah, I'm not exactly jumping up and down and all that. But this is what I wanted, after all, this is why I got married, I wanted to have kids."  
  
Monica furrowed her brow, trying to figure out where Phoebe was going with this. She tried gently prompting, "Is it?"  
  
Phoebe didn't reply for a moment. "Is it what?"  
  
"Is it what you wanted?"  
  
This time the silence stretched for some time. "I... I don't... how do you do it?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Take such... such total responsibility for another life." Phoebe sounded agitated now. "How do you go about raising your kids so they... they don't eat chalk or go to jail or give away their own babies or... or... put their head in... in a..."  
  
"Phoebe." Anything to keep her from completing that sentence. "There's... only so much you can do. You can raise them and love them, but ultimately they'll make their own decisions about the kind of people they want to be."  
  
"But it's not good enough!" Phoebe sounded unusually shrill. "I've seen people who had perfectly loving mothers do some terrible things, and... and I can't, I can't be responsible for that."  
  
"You won't be." Monica was treading quicksand now, flailing about desperately. "I mean, look at you, you didn't have that great a childhood and you turned out wonderful."  
  
Phoebe snorted. "Yeah, I'm not nearly as wonderful as you might think. The things I... oh Monica, I don't want my child going through that."  
  
"Then don't let them. Provide for them the best environment you can, shower them with love like only you can, and you'll give them the best possible chance to choose to become good people."  
  
"Yeah?" Phoebe sounded thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe. It's just... I... I don't know that... that I can... that I'm capable of... giving them that chance."  
  
"Sure you are! Mike will help, too. What does he think about this?"  
  
"I haven't told him."  
  
"You haven't told him!" Monica retreated into a safe, righteous indignation. "Phoebe, you have to tell him! He's the father, he has a right to know."  
  
"I know. I know I have to tell him. I just... wanted to be... ready. With a plan. You always had a plan, I wanted to try having one, too."  
  
"Well, that's good, I think organization is good." Monica paused. "But... that's me. That's not... necessarily you. Sometimes, sometimes I admired your... spontaneity. Like, like the time you got everyone to go to Vegas on the spur of the moment. You're good at that kind of stuff, you shouldn't lose that."  
  
"Spontaneity." Phoebe seemed to warm up to the idea. "Mexico! We could go to Mexico and I could tell him there! That way he'll be warm and happy before I tell him."  
  
Monica laughed. "And after you tell him, too."  
  
"You think so?"  
  
"I know so." Monica grinned into the phone. "You'll be a fine mother, Phoebe, I know that, too."  
  
"O-okay." Phoebe didn't sound convinced. "Thanks Monica. I'm going to go make plane reservations now."  
  
"Without telling Mike?"  
  
"He'll come. I'm very persuasive."  
  
That sounded more like Phoebe. "All right. Call me before you go."  
  
"I will. Bye!"  
  
"Bye." Monica hit the disconnect button and stared at the fireplace.  
  
Several minutes went by before the door opened. "Hey, I'm back. I got the baby-dry diapers because I wanted to see how they could possibly keep our children happy and comfortable. If they do, I'll use them myself."  
  
Monica looked up at the smiling face of her husband. "How do we keep our children from eating chalk?"  
  
Chandler did a small double-take. "By not feeding them a blackboard?"  
  
"Easy for you to say. How can we possibly accept such total responsibility for our babies' lives?"  
  
Chandler frowned slightly, then sat next to her. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Oh, nothing." Monica hugged him fiercely. "Just hold me for a while, okay?"  
  
"All right." He put his arms around her, and for a while Monica drew strength from the simple physical contact.  
  
---  
  
Rachel opened the door and beamed a smile at the world in general. "Hi!"  
  
Ross looked up from where he was typing at his computer, still grading papers from his classes. "Hey there. How was your first day at work?"  
  
"It was wonderful!" She went over to him, leaned down, kissed him quickly but forcefully. "They're all such great people! And my boss, he's a great guy, really smart, really knows his stuff, he showed me all around. They have lots of new people and I met them all and we have this... this real energy, you know?"  
  
Ross grinned. "I think I'm feeling it a little bit."  
  
"Yeah, it's like we all make each other work better." Rachel put her briefcase on the desk. "I'm sorry I was late, we just had so much to talk about today. Is Emma asleep?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Rachel walked quietly into Emma's room, looked down at the sleeping form of her daughter. Just as well she was asleep; Rachel was so full of excitement that it would probably have kept Emma up as well. Rachel gently touched Emma's face, then went back out into the living room. "Thanks for taking care of her."  
  
Ross had a peculiar look on his face. "You don't have to thank me, you know. We, we're her parents. That's what we do."  
  
"I know." Some of her good mood dissipated. "It's just... you may have to do more of it than I do. For a little while, anyway, while I get settled in."  
  
"I understand." Ross went back to typing comments into the computer. "I should be able to for a while. If I get that grant, we may have to think about trying to get a baby-sitter. But that won't be for weeks yet."  
  
"Good." Rachel brightened. "You should see my office, it's wonderful, they have all this art in there, and they said I could buy some if I wanted to and expense it. Oh, and they're having a formal gathering Friday night, at the Plaza, it'll be formal but relaxed, they said, and we'll get to meet everyone and their families. All the new people like me meeting all the people who have been working there, socializing and familiarizing and bonding and all that wonderful stuff. It's going to be great!"  
  
Ross looked up. "It does sound great. Friday, you said?"  
  
A cold feeling washed over Rachel and her smile vanished. "Um... Ross."  
  
"Yeah?" He looked puzzled.  
  
"I... I know I said... family, but..." Rachel leaned against the wall, wondering if she was trying to put distance between them for some reason. "But... for now, for right now, I wanted... I wanted this to be... for me."  
  
Ross thinned his lips and looked back at his computer. He began typing again, his fingers moving rapidly.  
  
Quailing, Rachel found herself continuing. "I don't want to explain... everything just yet. I, I'm not ashamed of you, or Emma, I'll tell everyone who asks, but... but I want them to know me, me as I am by myself before... before they know you."  
  
Ross continued to fixate on his computer's screen, his fingers practically stabbing the keyboard, not saying anything.  
  
"It's just, sometimes, you tend to dominate a conversation, and... for this, I don't want that, I want..." Rachel bit her lip. This was bad, this was going bad, she wasn't saying things well. "I want... to be able to present myself without... being overshadowed, even if you don't mean to."  
  
"Oh come on!" Ross gestured at the screen. "Don't you know your stratigraphy! You're only off by a few hundred thousand years!"  
  
Rachel shook her head slightly, confused. "Ross?"  
  
He looked over at Rachel and his voice and expression softened. "Hmm? Oh, did you say Friday? I'm sorry, it's Phil's sixtieth birthday and we're going out for drinks after classes to celebrate. But you go to your work thing without me, I'll get someone to watch Emma."  
  
Rachel blinked. She stared at Ross, who was looking back at her with a slight smile. And then a tremendous feeling of relief washed over her. She walked over to him, bent down until they were almost nose to nose, smiled at him. "Thank you honey." She kissed him, not passionately but with feeling, to let him know she understood what he had done for her just now and that she appreciated it.  
  
They shared that kiss for a few seconds, then she broke it off, smiled widely at him, then straightened and turned away. "Oh, I've got so much reading to do. I'm going to take a bath while I do some of it."  
  
"All right." Ross's voice contained an echo of contentment. "I've still got a few more papers to finish up here."  
  
Rachel picked up her briefcase and headed towards the bathroom, feeling strangely euphoric. It was going to work, it really seemed like it might actually work, and that would be the best thing ever.  
  
---  
  
(to be continued)  
  
Author's Notes: This is now looking like it will be five parts. Chapter Three should be out very soon. 


	3. Part III

Joey pushed open the coffee house door, saw Phoebe sitting on the couch, and smiled. This wasn't a chance encounter this time, he had arranged to meet her here. Still, any chance to see and talk to her was a good thing.  
  
He walked around, sat on the couch next to her. Phoebe looked up and smiled. "Hi."  
  
"Hey." Joey looked down at the suitcase and bag at Phoebe's feet. "Are those yours?"  
  
"Yeah. In a couple of hours I'm going to go pick up Mike and head to the airport. We're going to Ixtapa."  
  
"Ix... wha?"  
  
"Ixtapa. Mike says it's the best place to go to in Mexico."  
  
"Mexico?" Joey studied Phoebe. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"  
  
She wouldn't meet his eye. "Not in so many words, no."  
  
"And you're thinking this Mexican place is the way to do it?"  
  
"Uh-huh. I mean, we'll be relaxed and having fun, and he can't run away without me."  
  
"What?" Joey felt uneasy. "Why?"  
  
"Because I'll steal his passport before I tell him."  
  
"No, I mean... why would he run away?"  
  
"Oh." Phoebe pulled on her bottom lip. "Because... because it's, you know, kinda scary."  
  
"It's not scary at all. He wants kids." Joey took Phoebe's hand away from her face, made her look at him. "You know that."  
  
Phoebe's eye kept flicking away and back, as if forcing herself to look at him despite not wanting to. "There's knowing and knowing. I know what Mike says, but I don't know if Mike knows what he knows. And when it hits him, he might not... know what he thinks he knows."  
  
Joey smiled at Phoebe's bewildering logic that still somehow made perfect sense. "Well, I know. He'll be really happy, I promise. Who wouldn't be? Any guy would be lucky to have you as the mother of his child."  
  
Phoebe's gaze steadied and she smiled. "Why isn't it your child I'm carrying? I know what you know, after all."  
  
"If you know me that well, you already know why not." It sounded good, and Joey was slightly surprised that he'd come up with it. Then again, avoiding answering tricky questions was one of his specialties.  
  
"Yeah, I guess." Phoebe squeezed his hand. "So what's this news you wanted to tell me?"  
  
"Oh!" Joey grinned widely, the excitement rising again. "I got a great new agent! And she already got me an audition for a great new television show!"  
  
"Oh, yay!" Phoebe beamed. "What is it?"  
  
"Well, I'm a cop, except I'm a mean, tough, street cop, dispensing justice in my own unique way." Joey almost couldn't get the words out fast enough. "It's a cable show, too, so I can swear and stuff. And there will be naked women! My agent thinks I'm just what the producers are looking for, so if I give a good audition, I'm in!"  
  
Phoebe was still smiling. "That was fast. You must have a good agent."  
  
"She's a shark."  
  
"Really? Neat!"  
  
"Uh, not that kind of shark," Joey said hastily. "She also got me an audition for some medical thing, I don't know if I'd like it, though."  
  
"Oh, this is so perfect for you. Everything you wanted, I'm happy."  
  
"Yeah, me too." Joey decided he had Phoebe as excited as he could get her, then tried to gently lower the hammer. "If I get past the auditions here in New York, I'll fly out in a couple of months to begin shooting."  
  
Phoebe's smile vanished. "Fly out?"  
  
"Yeah. The studio is in Hollywood."  
  
"Oh." Phoebe studied his face. "So you'd fly back and forth all the time?"  
  
"I... I was thinking it would make more sense if I... move out there."  
  
Phoebe's voice flattened. "Move out there."  
  
"Yeah. My sister Gina lives out there, she's already begun looking for an apartment for me."  
  
"An apartment." Phoebe withdrew her hand. "So you're leaving... New York?"  
  
Joey cringed inwardly at the tone in her voice. "I might be. My agent says there are a hundred opportunities in L.A. for every one there is here in New York."  
  
"But... but you have a job here. As Dr. Drake."  
  
"I know." Joey sighed. "But it's... it's not a great job. They're going to get rid of me, I just know it, the viewers never bought in to the whole brain transplant thing. It's time I made my own opportunities, y'know?"  
  
"Yeah, uh huh." Phoebe stood up, grabbed her suitcase and bag. "I need to go pick up Mike now."  
  
"Pheebs." Joey rose to his feet as well. "I'd miss you, you know that, but... you got Mike, and the baby, and everyone else. I'll, I'll never be more than a phone call away, you know that."  
  
Phoebe stared at him a moment, then smiled. It looked a little forced to Joey's eyes. "I do know. Maybe, maybe I'll call you just before bedtime every day and sing you a lullaby."  
  
Joey grinned. "I'd like that."  
  
"Okay. Well." Phoebe moved past him towards the door. "Off to Ixtapa. But you know, I'll be coming back."  
  
"I know," Joey said slightly defensively as Phoebe walked out the door.  
  
Sighing, Joey sank back into the couch. This was terrible. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. But he needed to, there was nothing for him here.  
  
Nothing except the most important people in his life.  
  
With a groan, Joey sat back, closed his eyes, and wished desperately he could go back to the day when he'd moved in to a new apartment and started a great new life. A life that hadn't begun by hurting people he cared about so much.  
  
---  
  
Ross rung the doorbell. A few seconds later, it was quickly open and a tired-looking woman smiled at him. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Just came back to drop off the clothes that Rachel borrowed from you for her interview." Ross handed Monica the garment bag.  
  
She took it, a puzzled frown on her face. "You came all the way out here for that?"  
  
"Well, yeah." Ross looked down at the ground. "And, and maybe, to... ask your advice."  
  
"My advice?" Monica sounded exultant. "You want my advice?"  
  
"Yeah. Look." Before he could chicken out, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a box, and handed it to Monica.  
  
Her eyes widened. She hung the garment bag on a coat rack just inside the door, then opened the small box he had given her and said somewhat breathlessly, "Nana's ring."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That Mom gave you."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"To propose to Rachel with."  
  
"Yes, yes, all of that." Ross snatched it out of her hand. He closed the box and put it into his pocket. "So, so I was wondering... if, if I should, you know..."  
  
"Use it?"  
  
"Yeah." Ross felt defensive and embarrassed.  
  
"Ross, you've proposed like a hundred times. Why do you need my advice?"  
  
He smiled in self-deprecation. "The jokes, they're funny, I went along with them, but... you know, I only really proposed twice. Carol, that was serious, that was thought out, I thought it went all right. Emily, that was rushed, impulsive, I did it for all the wrong reasons. Rachel proposed to me the third time, and we were both so drunk we didn't even know what it meant, how serious it was supposed to be. This one... this one I want to get right. And I want it to be the last one, too."  
  
Monica looked at him, her face thoughtful. "Look, you want to come inside and talk?"  
  
"This is good." Ross looked around, taking in suburbia around them, it felt very much like families. "I have to leave soon, I want to be on the next train and that's in fifteen minutes."  
  
"This isn't exactly a five-minute conversation, you know."  
  
"I know." Ross felt frustration building up, a familiar self-contempt. "I don't even know why I brought it up. This kind of stuff I should be able to work out on my own."  
  
"Yes, you should." Monica considered him a moment. "Okay, quickly, what are your concerns? Why would it be a bad idea?"  
  
"Well, we only got back together a couple of weeks ago."  
  
"You've known her for more than twenty years. Next?"  
  
"Uh... well, I don't know that... I'm doing this for the right reason this time, either. It's like, I want to make our getting-back-together legally binding. It's as if I, I need to manacle her to me in order to, to keep her from... to keep us from breaking up again."  
  
"She loves you, you love her, you two have a daughter for crying out loud. What other proof do you need that you belong together? Getting married just acknowledges the reality of your current situation. And offers some interesting advantages when trying to buy a home, I might add. Next?"  
  
Ross felt a smile of bemusement creeping over his face. The world according to Monica had no problems that couldn't be overcome if one only listened to her. "And, and... I want to... do this right. I want to say the right things to her when I ask her to marry me, and... and I have no idea how to do that."  
  
"Oh, that's easy, I'll make a list..." Monica trailed off, shook her head, started over. "This one you're on your own. I can't tell you things about Rachel that you don't already know."  
  
"But... but do I know... the right things?" Ross shifted slightly on his feet. "There's, there's so much I got wrong over the years. How do I, how do I get the right words out?"  
  
Monica looked around the neighborhood for no reason Ross could fathom, then reached out and put her hand on Ross's chest. "Look, you do know the right words. You always have. When I proposed to Chandler, I had this whole speech prepared, and it all... went out of my head. Just say what you feel. Rachel knows you and loves you, she'll understand what you say even if it doesn't make sense."  
  
"Yeah, well, that hasn't always worked so good." Ross sighed heavily. "Something always managed to... get in the way. Cats, orthodontists, inadvertent proposals-"  
  
"Shut up, Ross!" Monica shoved Ross, sending him back a couple of steps. "What's to get in the way this time? You've got all the issues worked out, every one. You've both got jobs you like, there are no ex-wives or ex-fiances lurking about, no secrets you're keeping from each other, and you have the support of everyone around you. This is absolutely the perfect time. So go do it!"  
  
Ross stared at Monica for a while. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"  
  
She grinned. "Not a soul, except Chandler already knows because he's listening from the upstairs bedroom."  
  
From a second story window floated, "I am not!"  
  
Ross chuckled along with Monica. Then he half-turned towards the sidewalk. "Thanks. I have to go, I have to catch a train."  
  
"Let me know how it goes!" Monica was beaming with excitement.  
  
"I, I will."  
  
"I'd avoid mentioning Brits and lesbians if I were you," Chandler's voice added.  
  
Ross waved up at the window, then headed down the road. The train station wasn't too far away, and he'd be back in New York in an hour.  
  
Which would give him more time to think. Because, despite his sister's certainty, he wasn't sure this was the best time to be adding more pressure to Rachel's life. He wanted her so badly but needed to find out if she felt the same way before proposing. And it might take some time to figure that out. If he ever did.  
  
Ross sighed, somehow feeling like he was back in high school watching Rachel from across the cafeteria. He quickened his pace as he headed towards the train station.  
  
---  
  
Joey was going away.  
  
Phoebe bit her lip as she steered her cab rounded the corner, just in front of a limo. Joey was going away. Joey was leaving New York, leaving her. It was too big a concept, and her mind kept shying away from the idea. But there he sat in her mind, nervous smile on his face, talking about California. California.  
  
Joey was going away.  
  
With a vicious twist of the wheel, Phoebe pulled over to the curb. Mike jogged over, dragging various pieces of luggage. He opened the rear door of the cab and quickly loaded all the bags, then got into the front seat next to her. He smiled. "Okay, let's go."  
  
"Okay!" Phoebe hated how shrill her voice was, so promptly stopped talking. Instead she pulled right out into traffic, to the sound of squealing brakes and the blasting of a horn.  
  
"Look out!" Mike said about five seconds too late. He looked over at her, a worried expression on his face.  
  
Phoebe ignored it, mentally plotting her course. All routes were probably equally congested, but she decided on a series of roads that were most likely to have reasonable movement. She needed to take a left, so she spun the wheel and dodged through the traffic to get to the street she wanted to be on.  
  
"Phoebe!" Mike sounded both panicked and angry. "You can't drive like that, we don't even have any seat belts. You have to be more careful."  
  
Probably best not to mention the engine problems. "You'll be fine, Mr. Scaredypants."  
  
Mike didn't respond for a minute. When he did, his voice was a lot calmer. "What's wrong?"  
  
Phoebe tossed her head slightly. "Who says anything is wrong?"  
  
Gently, probingly. "Phoebe, tell me."  
  
"Well..." Not now, not like this. Later, when they were in Mexico and alone. She cast about for a subject. "Joey's moving to California."  
  
"Oh? Why?"  
  
"I don't know! It doesn't make sense, we're here, not there!" The words and the depth of feeling behind them surprised her. "I don't know how he could leave me."  
  
"Leave you?" Mike sounded puzzled. "Where you and he ever-"  
  
"He asked me to marry him once," she found herself saying.  
  
"Uh... he did?"  
  
Phoebe began berating herself. She was baiting Mike and didn't need to. A murkiness was beginning to form around her and it was affecting everything she did and said. She needed to focus on the positive, the healing auras, the lightness. Those were just hard to find. Joey was going away. They were all going away, in one way or another.  
  
The light ahead turned yellow. A muscle in Phoebe's leg twitched and she had to deliberately lift her foot off the accelerator. Gently she stepped on the brake, coming to a stop at the crosswalk as the light turned red.  
  
"He didn't really mean it. He loves me, but not that way." Phoebe turned to Mike. "He proposed to Rachel later that same day if it makes you feel better."  
  
Mike's brow furrowed. "Have I mentioned how odd your friends are?"  
  
Another time, the comment wouldn't have meant a whole lot to her. With the murkiness above her, she suddenly became quite angry. "Don't you dare judge my friends, Mike. They understand me a lot better than you do."  
  
An expression of hurt crossed his face. "I'd understand you better if you'd let me. There's so much you still haven't told me that your friends all seem to know. Why keep me excluded?"  
  
You're wrong, Mike. Even my friends don't know everything. Phoebe kept her mouth firmly shut, determined not to let the murkiness win, determined not to keep arguing. She looked up at the light, saw it turn green, gently pressed on the accelerator.  
  
Without warning. With the cab going less then ten miles an hour.  
  
A tow truck, of all things, sped through the intersection, running the red light. It slammed into the side of the cab, impacting the door next to Mike. He flew into Phoebe, who had already begun her own slide to the left. Her head hit the driver's side window and she knew no more.  
  
---  
  
Monica restlessly paced the living room, looking at it from all angles. It just wasn't right. The living room was much bigger than the one back in the apartment, and she just couldn't fill the space right. She'd tried various arrangements and nothing looked right at all.  
  
Chandler came from upstairs, clipping a baby monitor to his belt. He leaned against the wall, looking as she continued to stroll around the room. "Keep the patrols up, I heard the couch conspiring with the coffee table to attempt the big escape tonight."  
  
Monica didn't even look at him. "We need new furniture."  
  
"Right now?" Chandler shook his head. "Mon, we just bought a house and found out that we have twice the babies to take care of. We don't exactly have a lot of discretionary funds."  
  
"This is all wrong, though." She gestured at the chairs. "They don't belong. We need something to fill this place."  
  
Chandler walked up to her, gently putting his hands on her shoulders, which made her stop pacing and turn to face him. "We'll get you what you need, but not right now. We have too many other expenses to worry about."  
  
"I know, I know." Monica sighed. "It's just... I want this place to feel like a home. A real home, not just a copy of the apartment."  
  
"We'll get there. I promise."  
  
Monica looked up at Chandler's face, heard his soothing voice, and smiled. Chandler was far from perfect but he could rise to the occasion, and do so magnificently, saying and doing just the right things to make her feel good. She put her arms around his neck, began to draw him in.  
  
The phone rang. Monica made a face and moved away from Chandler towards the den. Chandler sighed in obvious disappointment, which for some reason made Monica grin. She picked up the phone and turned to face him as she spoke. "Hello?"  
  
"Monica Geller?" The voice was female, professional, unfamiliar.  
  
"Uh..." Monica blinked, decided not to worry about the accuracy of last names, a feeling of fear and dread beginning to settle over her. "This is Monica."  
  
"You're listed in our records as an emergency contact for Phoebe Buffay."  
  
Those records must be old. Phoebe's last name was wrong, too, and she'd certainly list Mike now as her contact. Monica wondered how this woman had gotten her current phone number, then realized she must have called the apartment and gotten the phone company's message that the number had changed. And all this speculation was her way of trying to avoid asking the next question. Steeling herself, she got her mouth to speak in a surprisingly calm voice. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Ms. Buffay has been in an automobile accident. She's been admitted to this hospital and is undergoing treatment."  
  
Monica reached out with her free arm, clutched Chandler's hand tightly. "Is she all right?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't have any more details at this time."  
  
"Was... was her husband in the cab, too?"  
  
"Uh... a Mike Hannigan has been admitted as well."  
  
"Oh God." Monica released Chandler's hand, grabbed a pen from the desk the phone was resting on. "Tell me where the hospital is."  
  
She got directions and hung up. Chandler immediately blurted out, "What is it? What's wrong? Is it Phoebe? Is she hurt?"  
  
"Calm down," Monica snapped. She picked up the phone again and began dialing. "I'm going to call my parents and ask them to come over and watch the babies. You call everyone else, tell them Phoebe and Mike have been in an accident. Tell them to meet us here." She thrust the pad at him.  
  
Chandler looked at the paper, his face ashen. "Are they hurt bad?"  
  
"I don't know! We won't know until we get there! Mom?" Monica spoke into the phone. "Hang on a sec, Mom. Chandler, start calling them. And I mean right now, mister!"  
  
Chandler gaped at her for a moment, then suddenly came to life. "Yes, of course, sorry." He grabbed his cell phone from the charger and walked out of the room as he began his own dialing.  
  
"Mom." Monica tried to control her racing thoughts. A terrible, awful fear was threatening to choke her but she had to get past that, had to keep it together. "I need your help."  
  
---  
  
Phoebe's next awareness was sitting propped up in a bed. She wasn't certain if she had lost consciousness or not. Just suddenly the world was there, and a man in a white coat was writing on a chart at the foot of her bed.  
  
Her head hurt. Phoebe reached up to touch her temple, encountered bandages instead. She looked down at her body, discovered she was wearing a hospital gown although she had no recollection of putting it on. Her whole body was sore, inside and out.  
  
The man was still scribbling. To find out if he was real, Phoebe called out, "Hello?"  
  
The man looked up. "Ah, you're awake, that's good." He hung the chart at the foot of her bed and took a step closer to her, looking into her eyes. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"It hurts." Phoebe tried to think back. What had she been doing? Mike... Mexico. Planning to go there, tell him, to let him know. The cab, arguing, murkiness. The crash, the sound, the feeling of impact.  
  
Phoebe looked at the doctor, her throat closing. "How's Mike?"  
  
"Let's talk about you first. Follow my finger." He moved it from side to side in front of her face.  
  
Confused, Phoebe tracked his finger as it moved around, then blinked and looked at the doctor again. "I want to know how my husband is."  
  
"You've suffered a mild concussion, but I think you'll recover." It was as if he hadn't heard her. "You have some other bruising and contusions, but nothing serious. However, you went into shock which induced a spontaneous abortion."  
  
"A..." The words, they couldn't possibly mean what she thought they meant. "A what?"  
  
The doctor took her hand. "Give me your strongest grip. Stronger, as strong as you can. Good. You had a miscarriage. I'd like to keep you in the hospital overnight for observation, and possibly schedule a D&C while you're here."  
  
Phoebe stared at the doctor as he extracted his hand. He walked back to the chart, lifted it and made a couple of quick notations, then replaced it. "The indications are that you'll have a complete recovery. I'll check in with you tomorrow morning. Ring the nurse if you need anything."  
  
"Need..." Phoebe shook her head, a mistake because of the pain it caused. "My husband. Tell me what's happened to my husband."  
  
The doctor hesitated. "I'll have someone come down and speak to you." He left the room.  
  
Phoebe looked around. Another woman, much older than she was, lay in another bed in the room, asleep or unconscious. No one else. No one was here. She was alone. Outside and inside.  
  
It hurt, it hurt too much and she shied away from it. Mike, all that mattered was Mike. Slowly, with deliberation, she lifted the sheets away. Her left leg was ugly with bruises and didn't want to be moved, but she still managed to lift it out of the bed and stand up. She felt dizzy, and waiting didn't seem to make it pass. Carefully, her leg screaming agony with every step taken, she walked to the door, opened it, found a hospital corridor.  
  
Phoebe considered each direction carefully before turning to her right. She still felt dizzy but was able to manage a respectable speed. Almost normal walking with barely a limp. No one talked to her, tried to stop her, even seemed to notice the cloud of murkiness she dragged with her, clinging to her like an oil spill.  
  
She reached the elevator lobby. Phoebe considered the directory. She was currently on the fourth floor. The emergency room was on the first floor. Intensive Care was on the second. The morgue was in the basement.  
  
She pressed the down button and waited. Eventually the elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside, past two normal-looking people and a doctor. They seemed to ignore her as she examined the buttons thoughtfully. She lifted her hand, hovered them over the buttons. She could not press B, that was not an option, she could not ever press that button, that button did not exist. Her forefinger caressed the 2, pressed it, caused it to light up as the doors slid closed.  
  
A few seconds later they opened again and Phoebe stepped out. There were other people moving around doing things, but Phoebe had no interest in details, no interest in them. She read the signs and found one that pointed towards Intensive Care.  
  
Again trying to simulate a normal walk, she moved down the corridor. After some distance she came to a set of double doors, beyond which she could see a nurse's station. She pushed the doors opened, which drew the attention of a small, dark woman sitting on the desk. "Miss, you can't come in here."  
  
Phoebe walked over to the desk, forced her eyes on the woman, spoke in a quiet voice. "I want to see my husband. Mike Hannigan."  
  
The nurse's eyes danced over Phoebe, probably taking in the bandages, gown, and bruises. After a moment, the woman looked down at a computer screen, tapped a few keystrokes. "He's in room 218."  
  
Phoebe drew a breath, mildly disappointed that she didn't feel more relieved that a trip to the basement wasn't necessary. "I'm going to go see him."  
  
The nurse looked back up at her, then grimaced before her face softened. "All right. No more than five minutes, then I want you to go back to your room."  
  
"Thank... thank you." Phoebe turned and walked past the station. The room wasn't far, second on the left, the door open.  
  
The room was far more crowded than she realized. An older couple were sitting on chairs, intently watching a man lying on the bed, tubes coming out of his mouth, I.V.'s going into both arms, his eyes closed, his face slack.  
  
The couple looked up as she came in, and their expressions hardened. Phoebe cringed, then walked slowly up to the bed, looking down at the face of her husband. "How is he?"  
  
"He almost died because of you!" The woman's voice was shrill, almost hysterical. "Did you come here to finish the job?"  
  
The man clutched the woman's hands. His voice was more low-key but no less hostile. "He has four broken ribs and a punctured lung and liver. They brought him out of surgery an hour ago. What did you do?"  
  
"I got pregnant." Phoebe reached out, put her hand on Mike's cheek.  
  
"Don't touch him!" The woman surged to her feet. "You've done nothing but tried to destroy him from the moment you met him! Leave my son alone!"  
  
Phoebe let the words wash over her. They were becoming noises anyway, just random sounds without meaning. The people making them weren't real people, either. Just images, just shapes. Just like her mother - her real mother, the one who had raised her - towards the end she had become nothing but a distant voice, and even being shown the shape of her mother kneeling on the kitchen floor hadn't made her any more real. After that her mother's image had gone away, had never returned, and although Phoebe had sometimes missed that, she'd learned to keep going.  
  
Now she had no reason to. The images and sounds around her were trying to tie her down, keep her where pain and horror and sadness floated overhead like a dark cloud that covered everything with despair and loss. She didn't want that, she wanted the murkiness to go away. She wanted to lift free, to leave it all behind. And while she would miss the image of the man on the bed, and while it would be hard not to hear his sounds again, she knew it was for the best. For him, for everyone.  
  
Phoebe removed her hand, smiled widely at the images, the spirits that were glaring at her, then turned away towards the door. "Mother?" she called out. "I'm coming, Mother."  
  
Anticipation growing, Phoebe left the room.  
  
---  
  
(to be continued) 


	4. Part IV

Chandler ran towards the hospital entrance from the parking garage. All during the drive from Westchester his worry had been growing, becoming a near-frantic mania. Phoebe, something had happened to Phoebe, and it crushed his heart.  
  
"Chandler!"  
  
Chandler, turned his head, saw Rachel waving at him as she also ran up. Ross was right beside her, and they all stopped at the entrance.  
  
"How is she?" Rachel's distress seemed equal to Chandler's. "Is she going to be all right?"  
  
"I don't know. I dropped Monica off before I parked the car so she could find out. I just got here."  
  
"Well, if anyone can find out quickly, she can." Ross clutched Rachel's hand, and Chandler could see that each of them was squeezing tightly. "Let's go."  
  
They went inside. Monica was not hard to find, her voice carrying well from where she stood at the information desk. "Not like a banquet. B-U-F-F-A-Y."  
  
Chandler jogged up. Monica turned briefly towards them, took in the sight of Ross and Rachel without comment, and turned back towards the receptionist. "Well?"  
  
"Here it is." The receptionist's voice was calm, obviously used to frenetic inquiries. "She's in room 408. Listed as being in good condition."  
  
Chandler let out a huge sigh, echoed by Ross and accompanied by Rachel's sob. The shared relief was almost palpable.  
  
Monica continued to be all business. "How about her husband. Michael Hannigan."  
  
The receptionist began tapping again. "He's in Intensive Care, post-op. Listed as very serious."  
  
Chandler's stomach twisted. Just when things were going to be better. Mike was a great guy, and gave Phoebe a stability she'd never had before. To think of him gone, and how much it would hurt Phoebe... Chandler shuddered.  
  
He looked around. Ross looked stricken, and Rachel was dabbing at her eyes. Monica's face was drawn and pale, and her voice was subdued but still brisk. "Let's.... let's go up and see Phoebe first. She'll probably need us to be there."  
  
Chandler nodded. Wordlessly they moved towards the elevators. Chandler sought out Monica's hand and found himself caught in a crushing grip. It hurt, but it was a good, necessary hurt, that of shared pain and worry. They shared a look as they waited for the elevator, and now at last he could see more of a reaction from her, her eyes wide in shock. Chandler could only return her gaze, unable to provide any more comfort than to be with her. Somehow, though, that was enough.  
  
"Where's Joey?"  
  
Chandler answered Ross's question while still looking at Monica. "I couldn't get a hold of him. I left a message on his answering machine."  
  
Ross swore softly. Chandler understood. Joey sometimes carried a cell phone, sometimes didn't, sometimes left it on, sometimes kept it off. Mostly it depended on whether or not he was trying to avoid a woman. Chandler hoped Joey checked his messages soon.  
  
They quickly found room 408. One bed had an older woman who was now watching television. The other bed was empty. Monica released Chandler's hand and peered into the small bathroom, then looked back at him and shook her head.  
  
"Oh, where is she?" Rachel's voice sounded slightly tremulous.  
  
"She probably went down to see Mike," Ross replied. He lifted up the chart at the end of Phoebe's bed and examined it.  
  
Monica sidled up to him, started reading over his shoulder. "What's it say?"  
  
"Concussion, contusions, bruises-" Ross's voice suddenly stopped. He pointed at some words, and Monica groaned.  
  
"What?" Rachel tried to peer over the top of the chart. "What?"  
  
Monica's voice was heavy. "She lost the baby."  
  
Chandler closed his eyes for a moment. Oh God. It wasn't fair, it shouldn't have to happen to Phoebe.  
  
Ross spoke in a voice thick with his own pain. "We have to find her, now."  
  
"Yeah. Back to the elevators, Intensive Care is on the second floor." Monica led the way out of the room. The ride down was tense, silent. Chandler was almost quivering. He needed to see Phoebe, needed to see that she was all right.  
  
Again Monica led as they walked towards Intensive Care. She moved past a man walking the other way. He looked vaguely familiar to Chandler. The man stopped and called out, "You're Phoebe's friends, aren't you?"  
  
They all turned to look at him, and now it clicked in Chandler's head. "You're Mike's father."  
  
"Theodore." He looked uncomfortable. "Have you seen Phoebe?"  
  
"No," Chandler said with alarm. "We were just going to look for her in Mike's room."  
  
"She left a few minutes ago. My wife... we..." Theodore shook his head. "We weren't in a very good frame of mind. I'm afraid we said some... inappropriate things to her. I was going to... look, if you see her, can you let her know I- we're sorry?"  
  
Chandler looked around, but everyone else was looking at him as well. How he'd been placed in charge of this conversation he'd never know. "Sure."  
  
"Thanks." Theodore looked down, turned back towards Intensive Care.  
  
"How is he?" Rachel's voice was soft, gently probing.  
  
"He..." Theodore sighed heavily. "Those doctors, they don't say anything, they just talk about if's and maybe's and don't give you a straight answer. I think they said that if nothing goes wrong, he'll recover. We'll know more tomorrow."  
  
"Good." Rachel reached out, put her hand on his arm. "Our prayers are with you and your son."  
  
"Thank you." Theodore pulled away, his face still troubled, and walked back down the corridor.  
  
They stood in silence for a few seconds. Chandler cleared his throat. "So if Phoebe isn't in her room and isn't in Mike's room, where is she?"  
  
"Could be that we passed her in the elevator," Rachel said. "She might be back in her room."  
  
Monica stirred. "Let's search for her. Chandler, go back to the room and wait for her. Rachel, check the front lobby, ask around, see if she's left the hospital. I'll look around here, Ross you check around the rest of the hospital."  
  
Chandler felt a bit of relief. It was good to have Monica in situations like these, where she could lead and organize and think on her feet, and do all that better than anyone he knew once she got going. He nodded and turned to head back towards the elevator when he noticed Ross staring at the wall, apparently oblivious to anything else going on. Chandler felt a mild bit of panic on Ross's behalf; one ignored Monica's orders at one's own risk. "You catch that, Ross?"  
  
Instead of answering, Ross moved towards the wall - or more specifically, a door in the wall. An exit to the stairs, Chandler noted, with one of those audible alarms on it that would make a loud sound if someone opened the door. Clearly the hospital didn't want anyone using the stairs unless there was an emergency.  
  
Ross pointed at the door. "Look at this."  
  
They crowded around him. Chandler could see that part of the alarm box on the door had been pried open. Inside a pair of wires had been cut. Chandler blinked. "So? Someone disabled the alarm."  
  
"Looks recent," Ross commented. "I'm not exactly sure what Phoebe did before she lived with Monica, but I'm fairly certain not all of it was legal. Do you think she'd know how to do something like this?"  
  
Chandler looked around at Rachel and Monica, saw no disagreement on their faces. "I guess. But why?"  
  
"Let's find out," Monica declared. She pushed open the door. Chandler winced, but no alarm went off. They followed her to the landing. Monica looked thoughtfully at the stairs. "Up or down?"  
  
"Up." Rachel sounded fearful, and Chandler felt cold. Suddenly he knew what Rachel suspected, and it frightened him, too.  
  
They clambered up the steps. The hospital had seven floors and at the top was another door that led out onto the roof. It, too, had an alarmed door and it, too, had been disabled. Lying on the ground in front of the door was a pair of sturdy steel scissors. Chandler swallowed in a mouth gone dry and opened the door.  
  
The day was warm but not quite hot, but the roof seemed to collect and reflect the heat. Chandler stepped forward, making room for the others as they followed him onto the roof. He quickly scanned the roof, and almost missed it. Behind a heavy piece of cooling equipment he saw blonde hair being lifted on a breeze.  
  
He pointed and ran, the others right behind him. He turned the corner on the equipment and screeched to a halt.  
  
Phoebe was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown. One of her legs was purple and yellow, swollen with the bruises. Her head was partially wrapped in bandages, with just a few strands of her hair falling free. She stood on the very edge of the roof, leaning far over the edge, looking down into an alleyway below, one hand hanging on to a pipe on the side of the cooling equipment.  
  
Rachel practically screamed. "Phoebe, no!"  
  
Phoebe turned her head, saw them, and smiled widely. "Hi guys."  
  
"Phoebe." Monica spoke in a stern voice. "Come down from there right now!"  
  
"You always were so strong and forceful. I liked that about you." Phoebe looked back down into the alley.  
  
"Phoebe!" Now Monica's voice contained a hint of supplication. "Please, you'll hurt yourself."  
  
"No I won't. Mother won't let me be hurt."  
  
Chandler felt his chest tighten. "Your mother's dead, Phoebe."  
  
"Dead?" Phoebe sounded mildly puzzled. "But death doesn't mean anything. I've lived and died so many times it doesn't matter any more. Mother's there, she's waiting for me, she won't hurt me and we'll be together."  
  
"Phoebe, we need you too." Ross had assumed a kind of gentle, lecturing tone. "If you come back with us we'll help you get over the hurt."  
  
"That's sweet, but I'm not hurting now." Phoebe paused briefly. "I'm mostly not hurting. I just need to wait for Mother to call out to me and all the pain will go away."  
  
"That's not the way," Ross insisted. "There's too much to do here. Mike needs you, we need you here, not with your mother."  
  
"Mike?" Phoebe smiled gently. "I loved Mike. He was good to me before. But he doesn't belong with me and Mother. He'll be fine, his parents love him, and I might visit him once in a while just so he won't forget me."  
  
"If you join your mother you won't be able to visit him or us, ever."  
  
"Oh, now you're just being silly." Phoebe chuckled. "It was fun playing with you. But really, there is so much you don't know. You don't need to worry about me, I'll be fine."  
  
Ross bit his lip and looked around. Chandler had no idea how to proceed and neither did anyone else. Chandler motioned and they huddled together.  
  
"Should we call the police?" Rachel said in a whisper.  
  
"They might just scare her into letting go," Chandler whispered back. "And if they somehow stop her, she'll just end up in a mental ward somewhere. Do you know what they'd do to Phoebe in there?"  
  
Rachel reluctantly nodded. "That'd kill her as much as anything would."  
  
"I've seen her like this before," Monica said in the same whisper. "Back when she first moved in. Sometimes in her mind I just wouldn't... be there. She'd be in some other world and nothing else mattered."  
  
Ross looked frustrated. "So how do we get through to her?"  
  
"I... I think we just keep talking to her." Monica looked around. "The more she interacted with us, the more... here she was. If we can just keep her talking, she'll come out of it. I hope."  
  
Rachel was just starting to say something when Chandler's cell phone began ringing. In the quiet of their whispered conference it sounded unnaturally loud and harsh. Chandler quickly took a few steps away from the others, looked at the caller ID, and hit the talk button. "Joey, where are you?"  
  
"I'm at my apartment, I just got your message." Joey sounded beside himself with worry. "How's Phoebe?"  
  
Chandler looked over his shoulder. Rachel was now talking gently with Phoebe, who was still leaning out over the alleyway but appeared to be listening. "Listen, man. Phoebe's spaced out, in the worst possible way. Mike's in a coma and she lost her baby and it really freaked her out. She's on the roof of the hospital right now, right this very instant, threatening to jump off. We're trying to talk her out of it but we could use your help."  
  
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Chandler almost danced in frustration, wanting to go back and talk with Phoebe, hoping to keep her safe, but needing Joey to understand first.  
  
When Joey finally talked, it was in a voice an octave higher than normal. "Don't let her jump off, man."  
  
"I'll try not to. Just get over here right now, okay?"  
  
"Okay, I-" Joey cut himself off. Chandler hopped on his feet, waiting Joey out. After a minute, Joey continued in a more even voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
"As soon as you can?" Chandler shook his head in disbelief. "What does that mean?"  
  
"Just don't let her jump." Joey hung up.  
  
Chandler shook the phone, irrationally hoping if he tried hard enough Joey would fall out in front of him. Then he put the phone in his pocket and rushed back over to Phoebe. Rachel was still talking, in a calm voice that belied the tears streaming down her face. Ross and Monica stood on either side of Rachel, as if to support her. Those two looked at him as he walked up. He silently mouthed, "Joey's coming," and they nodded their understanding.  
  
Chandler clasped Monica's hand and then did his very best to keep Phoebe in the real world.  
  
---  
  
Phoebe looked down at her mother. Or what maybe was her mother, the shape in far distance as she looked down into the alley was difficult to make out. It kept trying to resolve itself into the shape of her mother, but the spirits drifting around on the rooftop near Phoebe were distracting it, keeping it from revealing itself. That, and the ever-increasing cloud of murkiness over her head that was almost tangible enough to block out the sun.  
  
"There will be other chances," one of the spirits said. The bright, shiny spirit, the one that flitted about brightening everything she touched. The spirit had a name but Phoebe couldn't quite recall it and didn't feel like trying. "Mike will get better, you'll see, and then you and he can have another baby. It'll happen, you'll see."  
  
"Mike isn't for me." Phoebe sighed. "I knew that, I really knew that all along. I don't belong here, I belong with my mother, you'll see."  
  
"But Phoebe, honey, we'll miss you. You were going to be maid of honor at my wedding, remember?"  
  
"Oh, I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it." Phoebe giggled. "Maybe I'll float over you, making scary ghost noises during the ceremony. And then when you go to break the glass, I'll swoop in and break it for you! That'll be funny."  
  
"Phoebe." This was another spirit, the strong, steady spirit, the rock she'd sometimes anchored herself on, especially all those years ago when the spirit had given Phoebe a home when few others would. "We don't want scary ghost noises. We want you. Please, be here with us."  
  
Silly spirits. Phoebe wasn't sure how many minutes, hours, or years she been talking with these spirits, but it felt like a long time hearing them say the same thing over and over. Her shoulder was beginning to ache very badly, the pain helping to feed the murkiness, and soon it would send her to Mother whether she was ready or not. "I love you all, but please be quiet. I can't quite hear what Mother is saying."  
  
"Hey Pheebs."  
  
Phoebe smiled, still staring down into the alley. It was here, the spirit she liked best, the young spirit full of boundless energy, always trying to have fun, to play with the world. She was glad to hear it, feel it one more time before she joined her mother. "Hi Joey." She was mildly surprised that she remembered the spirit's name.  
  
"Now, I want you to stop playing jokes and come down from there right now," the young spirit said with mock severity. "Who else is going to sing me to sleep?"  
  
Phoebe laughed. "I still will. I'll float through the wall, but only when you can't see so it won't be scary, and I'll sing you any song you want, and Mother will sing too, it will be the best duet ever."  
  
"Don't give me that. Mother couldn't sing at all, she had a terrible voice. But what am I saying, so do you."  
  
Phoebe whipped her head around. Standing there, shockingly real amongst the spirits, was a tall woman with long blonde hair. She was looking at Phoebe with no expression on her face. She never had an expression on her face. Ever. Her dull eyes would watch and examine and judge, then amazingly painful words delivered with a flat voice would escape into the air, hurting everyone who could understand them.  
  
Phoebe trembled, a combination of exhaustion and anger. Of all the people in world, this woman was the one she least wanted to see right now. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Oh, this guy told me you were going to kill yourself so I decided to come and watch." Ursula walked over to the edge of the roof, still a measured distance from Phoebe, and looked down. "That's quite a fall. Why not use an oven like Mother did? It would seem to be less painful, if perhaps a little slower."  
  
"Don't you dare talk about Mommy like that!" Phoebe was breathing heavily, almost pure hatred being exhaled. She looked back down into the alley, desperately trying to evoke Mother before Ursula scared her away. "Get out!"  
  
"I suppose." Ursula's voice, of course, had not changed, was incapable of changing, might as well have been talking about what to fix for dinner. "Only, okay, here's the thing about killing yourself. Don't."  
  
Surprised, Phoebe looked up. Ursula had been reaching up, plucking at the murkiness over Phoebe's head, and quickly she dropped her hands, as if guilty about being caught. She looked evenly at Phoebe. "Don't," she repeated.  
  
"What does it matter to you!" Phoebe's eyes were burning and water began to spill down her face. "Just let me do what I want and don't interfere. Ross, back off!"  
  
The spirit who had been edging forward took two steps back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. Phoebe shot him a glare, then focused on Ursula again.  
  
"Fine, whatever you want." Ursula's eyes drifted back up to the murkiness, and almost begrudgingly lifted her hands and began picking at the edges. "But see, well, I don't want you to die. You're married to a rich guy, and if I need money I want to be able to come to you and take it. Those movies I made, they weren't very fun and I didn't make as much money as they promised I would. So, see, I need you alive."  
  
"Oh my God." Phoebe wanted to wring her neck. "Is that all I am to you?"  
  
"Pretty much, yeah." Ursula was now grabbing chunks of the murkiness, ripping them free and dropping them to the ground. "And... well, maybe a little bit, I need you alive to prove that not everyone in my family is mean and stupid. If I see you... y'know, happy... then maybe that means that being unhappy isn't a genetic imperative. I need you to be an example for me."  
  
"You, you, you, it's always about you, how everything affects you. No one else matters. I HATE YOU!" Phoebe turned around, grabbed the pipe with both hands to ease the pressure on her shoulder. "You don't care about ANYONE OR ANYTHING! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME, YOU NEVER HAVE!"  
  
"Of course I don't care about you." Ursula brought her hands down, clasped them at her waist. "Everyone I ever cared about in my life has died. Not caring about you is the only way I can keep you alive."  
  
Phoebe glared at her sister. Ursula, as always, didn't react, just stared back blankly, waiting for a reaction.  
  
Sobs began to escape from Phoebe's throat. "I miss her. I miss her so much. I want to go back to her, I want to go see her."  
  
Ursula shrugged. "So go see her. But later. Not now."  
  
For long moments Phoebe held her sister's unflinching gaze. Then she looked over her shoulder back down into the alley, leaning as far backwards as she could while still holding onto the pipe. "Mother, I'm sorry," she whispered.  
  
The shape at the bottom of the alley disappeared, leaving nothing but cement and garbage behind.  
  
Regretfully, Phoebe straightened, stepped away from the edge of the roof, and released the pipe. She was immediately surrounded by people who were all trying to hug her at once. Her first thought was that this couldn't be good for the baby. Then she remembered there wasn't going to be a baby. She began crying, hard sobs that wracked her body. The people around her held on to her as best they could, trying to make reassuring sounds even as they themselves were crying. She clung to them and spilled her grief onto them and they accepted it and took it as their own and tried with all their heart to ease the burden.  
  
Phoebe sobbed for several minutes before finally subsiding. She knew it was just a temporary reprieve, that the sobs would return in force later. But she also knew the people around her would be there too, and that comforted her a bit.  
  
"Okay, well, I'm going then. I don't suppose you could give me cab fare? Plus maybe a bonus or something."  
  
"Ursula!" Phoebe shrugged everyone off, ran over to her sister, hugged her tightly. "Thank you."  
  
Ursula made an annoyed sound as Phoebe kept hugging her. After perhaps a minute she lifted her arms, put them across Phoebe's back, and for the briefest of instances applied pressure, making it a genuine hug. Then Ursula forcibly separated them, looked at Phoebe with that same hard expressionless face that was only slightly spoiled by the watering of her eyes. Ursula whirled and left the roof.  
  
Joey came up to Phoebe, the others not far behind. "Gonna be okay, Pheebs?"  
  
"Not... not for a long while." She turned and hugged him. "But I think I will be, eventually."  
  
"Good." Joey sounded very relieved, which she supposed he had a right to be.  
  
"We should get you back into bed." Ross's voice was tentative but friendly.  
  
"O-okay." Phoebe allowed them to guide her towards the door. "Can we stop and see Mike first?"  
  
"Of course," Rachel replied. "I want to see him too. But only for a minute. You need some rest."  
  
"Okay." Phoebe sagged slightly in Joey's grasp as they walked down the stairs. Somehow she knew that he would keep her from falling until she could walk on her own.  
  
---  
  
(to be continued) 


	5. Part V

Monica gently closed the door, turned around, and almost collapsed against it. She was emotionally exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. But there was still so much to do, to work out. She looked around, saw four faces looking back at her, each etched with their own exhaustion. A lot of tears had been spilled in the past few hours before Phoebe had finally fallen asleep.  
  
"All right, Chandler and I need to head back to the twins. Can someone stay with Phoebe tonight?"  
  
Rachel and Ross looked at each other, and Monica could almost see the exchange of unspoken thoughts about Emma. Joey drew their attention with a short statement. "I can. I will."  
  
Monica considered Joey thoughtfully. That attractive, innocent face, the sometimes childlike approach to the world he took. And the amazing things he was capable of, which after all these years still astounded her. "Joey, how did you ever think of Ursula?"  
  
"Oh." He seemed almost embarrassed. "Well, y'know, Chandler said you all were there, and I got to thinking that there wasn't anything I could say to her that you guys couldn't say better. And then I thought that maybe there was one person who'd been where Phoebe was, and could maybe, y'know, reach her there."  
  
Joey shrugged. "I once spent a whole evening talking to Ursula, back when we were dating. We stopped under a bridge and she just started... saying stuff. One of the things she said was that it was only people like me that kept her from killing herself. I couldn't understand it, I'd never kill myself, I just couldn't do it. I don't think any of you guys could either. But evidently Ursula thought about it. So she knew what Phoebe was thinking of, and would know... know how to get her to stop."  
  
"God, I wanted to grab her arm and march her back down the stairs," Ross said bemusedly. "I thought she was trying to force Phoebe to jump."  
  
"But you didn't try and stop Ursula," Rachel commented. "Why?"  
  
"Because... oh, I don't know." Ross spread his hands helplessly. "Because Joey had brought her. Because Phoebe seemed... more intense, more real when she was angry at Ursula. Because... it felt... it felt right to just let them talk."  
  
"I felt that way too," Chandler added. "Her eyes, when she was being all giggly, they weren't really focusing on us. When Ursula showed up, suddenly they were like lasers. I didn't know if that was a good thing, but it was at least a different reaction."  
  
Monica nodded. "It was. And it was good. I know that sometimes... sometimes yelling and fighting can release tensions. It's not a bad thing all the time. Ross and I, we fought all the time, but it wasn't... bad fighting, not really."  
  
Ross smiled tiredly. "Sometimes it got bad. But sometimes it did keep us from... from going crazy."  
  
Chandler reached out, clapped Joey on the shoulder. "You did good, bud. You did very good. You saved her life."  
  
Joey actually blushed. "I did not. That was Ursula, not me."  
  
"We know who it was." Monica stepped over, hugged Joey. He didn't seem to know how to react, but eventually hugged her back with a hint of a sniffle.  
  
"Joey." Rachel put her hand on his arm. "If you stay up all night, will you be able to work tomorrow?"  
  
"I'm not going to work tomorrow."  
  
"Joey!" Monica released him, took two steps back.  
  
This time Joey seemed more certain. "I'm done with that. They don't want me, they can write me off super easy. Phoebe needs me now."  
  
"But, Joe," Chandler said with concern, "you need the job. Do you have enough to get by?"  
  
"For a while, yeah. And... and I got some other auditions already."  
  
"Oh?" Rachel raised her eyebrows. "Like what?"  
  
Joey looked uncomfortable. "I'll tell you later. Look, right now all that matters is Phoebe. Let me worry about my acting career later, after Phoebe's recovered. Okay?"  
  
Monica frowned, not liking the answer but, at the same time, knowing that Joey wouldn't change his mind about this. Which, she was coming to realize, wasn't a bad thing, either. "All right. Chandler and I can take turns during the day staying with her."  
  
"Rachel and I can take evenings," Ross said as he looked into Rachel's eyes. "One of us can watch Emma while the other stays here with Phoebe." Rachel nodded.  
  
"I can stay here at night, then." Joey sounded relieved.  
  
"Good." Monica felt more in control, felt for the first time like it might all work out. "Either Chandler or I will be here by nine. Call us if you need anything."  
  
No one said anything more. Joey quietly opened the door and slipped inside the room. Monica took Chandler's hand as they walked down the door towards the elevators behind the arms-around-waists strolling of Ross and Rachel. For just this once, Monica was content to let someone else lead the way.  
  
The separated at the hospital entrance, Ross and Rachel smiling and waving but with no energy and no words. They went to hail a cab while Monica allowed Chandler to guide her to the parking ramp.  
  
Chandler sighed. "What a day."  
  
"Yeah." Monica squeezed his hand lightly. "You did good today."  
  
"Did I?"  
  
"Yeah. You didn't panic. You kept in control and helped everyone stay focused on the right things."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yes." Monica smiled. "Now all you have to is keep it up for the next eighteen years or so."  
  
Chandler made an incoherent sound. His mood lightened slightly, and Monica's did, too. The future looked good. They had survived this; they could survive anything.  
  
They found the car and climbed in, and Monica let Chandler drive her home.  
  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
Ross opened the door to his apartment to see the babysitter sitting on his couch doing homework. She looked up, smiled briefly, then began to stuff her books into her backpack. Ross stepped inside and Rachel moved past him towards Emma's room.  
  
Ross settled up with the babysitter, giving her a healthy bonus for being available on such short notice. He talked with her about availability for the rest of the week as Rachel walked back into the living room and sat on the couch. A minute later the babysitter left, and Ross closed the door and considered Rachel.  
  
She was just sitting there, hands between her knees, looking out at nothing. Ross moved over to the couch and sat next to her. Rachel didn't immediately react to his presence. Ross put an arm over her shoulder and that seemed to prod her into action; she turned and hugged him, her ear pressed against his chest. Ross gently rubbed her back and said nothing.  
  
They sat that way for some few minutes. Ross finally felt the need to say something, communicate somehow. "How you doing, sweetie?"  
  
Rachel drew a breath. "Ross... you'll never leave me, will you? You'll always be here?"  
  
Ross bit back words, wrong words that shouldn't be said. He shouldn't talk about unforeseeable accidents, unknown medical conditions, or any of a thousand other things that could keep them from being together forever. Because... because she knew that. Rachel was intelligent; she knew quite well that things like that could happen, and that there was nothing neither she nor Ross could do about it.  
  
But right here, right now, she didn't need to hear that. Ross looked down at the top of Rachel's head and realized that she just needed to hear something irrational but meaningful, expressing hope for the future and trust in themselves. "I won't ever leave you, Rachel. I promise."  
  
Rachel sighed and hugged him a little harder, as if trying to keep him anchored on the couch forever.  
  
Ross swallowed, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. His free hand covered a small bulge in his pocket, where his grandmother's ring still rested. There would be one way to cement that promise, one way to show the depth of his commitment to her. But... tonight, under these circumstances, with all that had happened? He wasn't sure it was right.  
  
But he also realized that he had a need, as irrational as Rachel's, to be reassured. He needed to know that she wanted him to be with her always, and that she would stay with him through everything that happened, good and bad. He needed her, pure and simple. And he wanted to show that to her, and have her accept it.  
  
And yet... if he tried too hard, too fast, at the wrong time... could he destroy what they had? Always in the past he'd managed to do or say the wrong thing to keep a reconciliation from happening. He no longer trusted his own motives, which had prompted him to seek Monica for advice. But Monica wasn't here. He was, and he didn't know what was wrong or right and was deathly afraid of the consequences.  
  
Ross realized he was trembling very slightly as his hand plucked at the ring box through the fabric of his pants. This was it, this was his life, and he was rendered unable to think or act by the profundity of the moment.  
  
And then Rachel began to move. Ross felt a momentary feeling of pure panic - the moment had passed with him frozen in terror, would it ever come again? Rachel slid down his chest slightly so that her hands could reach his pants. One hand reached into his pocket, pulled out the box.  
  
With her own hands beginning to shake, Rachel opened the box, took out the ring, put it on the ring finger of her left hand, dropped the box on the couch, and went back to hugging Ross fiercely.  
  
Ross felt his throat close. He had no idea what had just happened. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, the feeling was too big, too strong, and he was too frightened that it might not be what he thought it was.  
  
"I, I was putting your laundry away one day," Rachel said in a tremulous voice. "And I saw it there, in your bureau, and I knew what you originally intended to use it for. I didn't say anything to you, I didn't know what to think of it, but I found myself checking your drawer every day to see if it was still there.  
  
"And then a couple of days ago it was gone, it wasn't in your drawer any more, and suddenly I got real scared. I'd been hoping I wouldn't find it and dreading the time when I'd see it there. Dreading, and anticipating, and waiting, and so confused that I didn't know what I was going to do."  
  
Rachel managed to lift herself up and look into Ross's eyes, tears streaming down her face. "And then I knew. When Phoebe... when I thought about what almost happened, it made me realize that... things, bad things could happen unexpectedly. That if I let too much time slip... I mean, I could go through my whole life and not hear the words I wanted to hear from you."  
  
Ross smiled weakly. "Will you marry me?"  
  
"Yes." Rachel leaned in, put her head on his shoulder, hugged him again. "Those were the words."  
  
Ross felt his chest would explode. He couldn't believe it, it was happening, it was happening now, everything he wanted, everything he had ever strived towards. His best and longest-held dream coming true this very instant, and the feeling was too great to hold him. Ross closed his eyes, murmured, "I love you, Rachel."  
  
"I know." She turned her head, nuzzled his neck. "Us... we... our relationship is working, for the first time this really feels like we're both... committed. To this relationship. To us. And I want to keep that going. Forever."  
  
Ross was having trouble breathing. "Forever?"  
  
Rachel nodded. "I know forever is impossible. But I promise to try forever, with you. Forever is you, Ross"  
  
A smile was beginning to form on Ross's face. "That, that wasn't much of a proposal I made."  
  
Rachel chuckled, still a touch shakily. "You've been proposing to me for twenty years. I just finally decided to accept."  
  
Ross laughed, joy spilling out of him. He opened his eyes and looked down into Rachel's face. She lifted her head to return his gaze, and they simply looked at each other for a long time. Then he kissed her and she kissed him and they didn't speak again that night.  
  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
Chandler came home to the sight Monica pacing around the living room. She immediately looked over at him. "How is she?"  
  
"Better, a lot better." Chandler dropped his keys onto the table next to the front door and walked into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. "She talked a lot about all sorts of stuff. I think it was her way of coping. But she was always lucid, always... well, there, with me, not in some other world. She'll be discharged tomorrow if nothing goes wrong."  
  
"Good." Monica smiled in relief. She moved to one side, looking down the length of the couch at Chandler. "How's Mike?"  
  
Chandler grinned. "They say he's going to have a full recovery. Phoebe and I went to go visit him a couple of times. He's awake now, although he's medicated a lot so he's usually kind of sleepy. They think he'll be there a week more."  
  
"That's terrific." Monica wandered over to one of the chairs, adjusted it slightly. "You watch the twins tomorrow, I'll help Phoebe get settled back in her apartment."  
  
"All right." Chandler watched Monica move around again, eyeing the furniture. She stared at an empty place between two chairs. Chandler looked at it as well. "What do you think, a coffee table?"  
  
"A pedestal table," Monica replied instantly. "Or maybe just a side table. Something that doesn't draw too much attention while still being functional."  
  
"Hmm." Chandler nodded knowingly despite not really having a clue. "Of course we'd have to get new chairs then. If they look nice enough no one will notice the pedestal table."  
  
Monica looked over at him suspiciously. "Then we'd have to get a new couch."  
  
"Oh, at the very least," Chandler agreed. "And maybe a new rug."  
  
Monica folded her arms. "What are you doing? You just said we couldn't afford new furniture. Are you trying to buy my peace of mind?"  
  
"Well..." Chandler hesitated, trying to find the best way to phrase things without making her mad. "I know the past couple of days have scared you. I know they scared the heck out of me."  
  
"Yes, and?" Monica used one arm to indicate the furniture. "How does buying things we can't afford help with that?"  
  
She was being unusually testy. Which meant she was still strongly feeling the aftereffects of Phoebe's near-suicide. Chandler hesitated, but knew that trying to back out now would be even worse. "We can find ways to afford it. That's not the point."  
  
"Then what is?" Monica wasn't yelling but was on the verge of it.  
  
"Look..." Chandler leaned forward, gesturing with his hands. "The next, oh, twenty years or so are going to be quite chaotic. All sorts of stuff is going to happen, and a lot of it will be beyond our control. And I know you hate being out of control."  
  
Monica's brow furrowed. "Again, issues unrelated to the furniture."  
  
"Not really." Chandler stood up and moved the couch three feet to the left. Monica's eyes widened but she evidently decided to allow the condemned a few words of self-defense before execution. Chandler turned back towards her. "The furniture won't move on its own, won't disobey us, won't do whatever it wants to no matter what we say. We push it, we shove it around, and it just takes it. We are in complete control of the furniture."  
  
Monica narrowed her eyes. "And you think I need to be in complete control of something?"  
  
"Absolutely." Chandler met her gaze straight on. "If you have a living room that will behave exactly the way you want it to, it'll help you deal with all the other things that won't."  
  
Monica didn't change expression, just kept staring at him. Chandler fidgeted for a minute, then dragged the couch back into place.  
  
Monica lifted one side of her mouth. "Don't worry about that. Come here."  
  
She opened her arms. Chandler nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to accept her hug. Monica squeezed him with enough force to make his ribs creak. "Thank you, honey. You've gotten quite good at this relationship stuff."  
  
Chandler grinned down at her. "I had a good teacher."  
  
Monica smiled back and kissed him, quickly but forcefully. Then she dropped the hug. "Now help me move the couch back right."  
  
"Yes, dear." Chandler felt very good as he helped his wife put everything back in place the way it was supposed to be.  
  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
Joey walked past the nurses' station, finishing off his sandwich and smiling at Nurse Roberts. She smiled back. At first she had objected to his presence in Phoebe's room after visiting hours, but an application of the old Tribbiani charm had persuaded her to let him stay. It helped that she seemed to like Phoebe, too.  
  
Joey slipped into the room. Mrs. Neilan - who also been exposed to the Tribbiani charm and had similarly acquiesced to his presence - was asleep. Phoebe had her eyes closed but she wasn't breathing like someone who was sleeping. Nevertheless, Joey was quiet as he slipped into the chair next to her bed.  
  
"Enjoy your meal?" Phoebe said softly but alertly, slightly startling Joey.  
  
"Yeah. Well, it wasn't bad, the cafeteria was closing and they only had ham and cheese, which wouldn't be my first choice, and I didn't have time to add all the garnish I wanted to." Joey closed his mouth, wondering if he was going too far on the details. He enjoyed chatting with Phoebe - she always seem greatly interested in everything he said, and they could babble on for hours - but he wasn't certain if he should be just letting her fall asleep right now.  
  
Phoebe stirred slightly. She threw back her covers and lifted up her hospital gown so that almost all of her left leg was exposed. "It hurts. Rub it for me."  
  
"Rub... your leg?"  
  
"Massage it, yeah. I can't sleep with all the throbbing."  
  
Joey looked at the leg doubtfully. Even in the darkened room he could see the ugly discolorations. "I don't know. I think I might make things worse."  
  
"I'm a professional, I'll guide you." Phoebe's eyes opened, and in the darkness Joey could just make them out as they settled on him. "Come on, it'll help me heal faster and all that."  
  
Joey rubbed his chin once, then stood up. With one hand he reach over, touched her leg just above the knee, rubbed the skin in a tiny circle.  
  
"Oh my, you're awful." Phoebe reached down, grabbed his wrist, moved his hand higher and slightly inward. "There. Feel the muscle?"  
  
Joey gulped. "Uh, yeah."  
  
"I want you to knead it, like bread."  
  
"Uh, yeah." Joey wondered if this was the time to mention that he had never made bread. But he had seen his mother doing it, so he tried to make similar motions.  
  
Phoebe winced and closed her eyes. "Yes, like that. Work your fingers around the edge of the muscle, really dig in. Yes, harder. Harder. Good. Move all around the edge, both sides. Use both hands."  
  
Joey followed her instructions, finding that this was a lot more work than he had anticipated. Not to mention more than a little embarrassing; he wasn't sure anyone other than Mike should be touching Phoebe's upper leg. Joey stole a glance at Phoebe, saw that her face still contained a hint of strain. Joey frowned and tentatively asked, "You sure I'm doing this right? You don't look like you're enjoying it."  
  
"I'm not supposed to enjoy it." Phoebe smiled briefly. "It's not that kind of massage. It's supposed to relieve pressure and help the blood circulate. It hurts, but in a good way. Just keep doing it for a while."  
  
Joey sighed and kept at it. His hands were beginning to ache but he kept on. Another time he'd complain, but not while Phoebe was lying in a hospital bed.  
  
Phoebe made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. "You're good at this. If you ever find yourself, you know, needing work in L.A., you could be a masseuse on the side."  
  
Joey grunted. "I'm not going to L.A."  
  
Phoebe opened her eyes. Joey didn't look at her, intent on making certain his hands didn't wander too far, but he could feel the weight of her stare. "Why not?"  
  
"I..." Joey trailed off, shrugged. "I can't leave you guys. I need you all around me. What if, what if something bad happened to me? Who'd take care of me in L.A."  
  
Phoebe cocked her head slightly. "Your sister would, wouldn't she? Plus I'm sure you'll meet new people out there."  
  
"Well, they'll never be as good as you guys." Joey swallowed. "I shouldn't... I can't not be with you guys."  
  
Phoebe considered this for a while. "What you really mean is, you're worried about us. About me. And that if you leave, you won't be here if more bad things happen."  
  
Joey thinned his lips and still refused to look at Phoebe. The woman was too insightful sometimes.  
  
For a couple of minutes Joey continued working on Phoebe's leg. He slowed down when he realized it was shaking slightly. Then he looked up to see that Phoebe was sobbing, as silently as she could. Panic began to fill him, and Joey stopped his massage to step closer to her. He couldn't exactly hug her while she was lying in bed so he gripped her shoulders. "Phoebe, what's wrong?"  
  
"It's okay." Phoebe wiped her eyes temporarily clear with one hand and gripped one of Joey's hands with the other. "It's okay to cry sometimes. I think I'll be crying a lot for a week or two. Don't worry about me."  
  
"It's okay, Phoebe." Joey tried a smile, and was a little surprised to find that it came easily. "I like worrying about you."  
  
"I know. I didn't mean don't worry, I meant..." Phoebe sobbed once, bit her lip, then continued. "There's so much I regret about what I tried to do on the roof. I scared you guys, and I hate myself for that."  
  
"Don't!" Joey found his volume and pitch were rising, and tried to bring both down to manageable levels. "Please don't hate yourself, Pheebs. You're a good person, and we all manage to scare each other once in a while. It's part of what being good buddies is about."  
  
"You're so sweet." Phoebe squeezed his hand. "But don't you dare give up your dreams because of me. That would just make me feel bad. If you love me you'll go to Hollywood and do what you like doing best."  
  
Joey felt suddenly scared. Because he knew she was right. Because it meant he was going to leave her, leave all of them. And no matter what she said, he'd still feel like he was abandoning her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't know if he could handle the uncertainty, the fear of being thousands of miles away from people who might need him.  
  
Phoebe smiled. A wide smile, her normal tooth-filled very-happy smile. "You'll be fine, darling. Trust me."  
  
Joey smiled slightly. The strange thing was that he did trust her, that he did believe her. "Darling? You never called me darling before."  
  
"Not to your face. I wanted to try it out just once." Phoebe closed her eyes, seemed to settle a bit into the bed. "Now do the same thing to my calf. Remember to be firm."  
  
Joey looked at Phoebe for a few seconds, then moved down and began massaging her lower leg. He kept his gaze mostly on her face, uncertain what she was feeling and uncertain how he felt about it. This was a different Phoebe from the coffee house and a different Phoebe from the roof, and Joey wasn't certain if that was good or not. It felt right, it felt like a good Phoebe, but he didn't know for sure. He realized that he never would know for certain, but that was all right.  
  
Feeling curiously mellow, Joey kept an eye on the half-smile on Phoebe's face until she fell asleep.  
  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
Monica carefully put Erica in the stroller, hoping very much not to wake her. She seemed to be successful; Erica didn't move as Monica carefully tucked the blanket around her. In the stroller next to Erica, Jack stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes and didn't make a sound, thankfully.  
  
Monica leaned back and looked around. The coffee shop was no longer a convenient place to meet. It was too crowded and noisy for babies. Still, no other place would do. For today, at least.  
  
"How do you do that?" Rachel asked from the chair where she sat with Emma. "I always had a terrible time putting Emma to sleep."  
  
"We're just lucky, I think," Chandler said. "They're not always this cooperative. Sometimes I have to dance around for hours before they fall asleep."  
  
Ross looked at Chandler quizzically. "Dance around?"  
  
Monica chuckled. "Don't ask."  
  
The door to the coffee house opened and Monica automatically looked up. Phoebe came in, looking unusually quiet and reserved. She saw everyone but didn't smile or wave, just looked back evenly. Worry began to grow in Monica, but she figured it out half a second before Ursula stepped aside and Phoebe and Mike entered hand in hand.  
  
This Phoebe smiled widely as everyone greeted her. Monica eyed them critically. She looked good, the bandage around her head was gone but she was wearing a scarf, and probably would until her hair grew back a bit more. Mike looked surprisingly well, with no external indication that he had ever been injured. Only by watching the stiff, careful way he moved could Monica determine that he hadn't completely recovered yet. That, and the fact that Mike and Phoebe were clutching each other's hand tightly.  
  
They sat down. Ursula sat at a table near the window, looking on but not quite joining the group. Monica studied her for a moment, trying to figure out what she was doing here and what her current relationship with Phoebe was. Just the fact that she was here, with Phoebe, was an indication that the twins' feelings for each other had improved a hundredfold in the last month.  
  
Rachel was saying something, and Monica put aside her internal musings in order to catch up. "What did your gynecologist say?"  
  
"Nothing bad," Phoebe said with just a touch of strain in her eyes. "No damage, I should be able to get pregnant again right away."  
  
Ross looked steadily at her. "Do you want to?"  
  
Monica winced internally. Ross sometimes had a habit of asking painful direct questions, and after all these years she still didn't know if that was a bad thing or not. It's certainly a question Monica wouldn't have asked, not for a long time anyway.  
  
But Phoebe didn't seem put out and took the question head on. "Yes. Yes, I do." She looked into Mike's eyes. "It's what we both want and need. I was silly for thinking that we weren't ready. We are."  
  
Mike smiled at her and leaned in. They shared a quick kiss and Monica sighed happily. Good things were coming out of the tragedy. For that, at least, Monica was quite thankful.  
  
The door opened, and there stood Joey. "Hey guys."  
  
Monica joined everyone in greeting him back. She felt a sudden, deep pang in her chest. This would be one of the last times she would see Joey as an intimate everyday friend. He was moving to Los Angeles in three days, and although she would probably see him again over the years, she'd never be as close to him as she was now.  
  
And that was a very sad thing.  
  
If Joey was feeling something similar, he showed no signs of it. He stood in the midst of them and looked down at Rachel. He had a big, silly grin on his face. "Show me."  
  
Rachel pursed her lips and smiled. Monica found herself smiling as well; this had become an almost daily ritual that Joey did not seem to grow tired of. Rachel lifted her left hand, showing Joey the ring she was wearing.  
  
Impossibly, Joey's smile grew wider. "Yeah, baby!"  
  
Chuckles passed through the group. Monica noted that Ross no longer seemed quite as embarrassed by the inordinate amount of joy Joey exhibited about their engagement. Which was good, Monica decided. Ross was growing comfortable with the idea of being engaged to Rachel. Euphoria was all well and good but it inevitably faded, and if what was left behind felt easy and good, then everything would work out. Monica found her hand reaching over to Chandler's and their fingers intertwined.  
  
Joey finally sat on the couch next to Phoebe. She was, of course, grinning at him. "When do you begin shooting your new series?"  
  
"Right away. I'm supposed to be on the set the day after I arrive." Joey hardened his face. "I want answers and I want them now, punk!"  
  
Phoebe laughed and cheered. Everyone else followed suit. Monica met Chandler's eyes and saw reflected in them her concern about the long-term viability of a television series that used such dialogue. But now was not the time to express such doubts, and she saw that Chandler knew that, too.  
  
They talked for a long time. About the babies, the new house. The wedding - not for a year or two at least, no date set yet. Rachel's new job. Joey's new job. Ross's experiences as a now-tenured professor. Monica and Chandler returning to their jobs in a couple of weeks, and what that meant.  
  
It was fun, it was normal, it was life. And yet, it was ending, this phase. It just wasn't sustainable, just the six of them together forever. Monica looked over at her niece, who she loved dearly but had really been the harbinger of the end of the status quo. Erica and Jack had been the next sign. And now Joey. Moving out, moving away.  
  
"Do you remember," Monica found herself saying, "the day you moved in and I invited you in for a drink?"  
  
Joey winced. "I keep trying to forget that, actually."  
  
"It was all right. I mean, you did the most embarrassing thing you could have done. I was fully ready never to speak to you again." Monica smiled. "But you seemed genuinely sorry. And then Chandler talked about what a great roommate you were, and how much he enjoyed living with you."  
  
"Yeah, we got lucky I guess." Joey looked over at Chandler. "Having such a good buddy... it was kind of a new thing for me, but I liked it."  
  
"I liked it, too," Chandler said with a grin.  
  
"I loved having you guys live across from us. I miss that. I miss this." Monica waved around the coffee house. "It's going to be so hard... not being able to do this any more."  
  
"Yeah, well." Ross looked around. "Y'know, it's not as hard as it used to be."  
  
Rachel frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean..." Ross sighed. "When Carol moved out, it was the worst feeling in the world, and I ran to you guys, I, I had to be with you guys, I couldn't imagine what might have happened if you guys hadn't been here. But now..."  
  
Ross met all their eyes, one by one. "When, when I thought my world was over yet again, when I though Rachel was leaving, I, I knew I would be okay. Even if you guys weren't, weren't here in this coffee house or, or in the apartment, I'd... I'd feel you... here." Ross tapped his chest. "If I have any kind of problem, all I have to do is close my eyes and I can see Phoebe smiling as she sings, Monica urging me to be strong, Chandler finding a way to relieve my tension, Joey cheering me on, Rachel looking at me with sympathy and concern. And, and that's enough. No matter what happens in the next year or the next twenty years, you guys will always be with me. And knowing that, I know that my life will be good."  
  
Silence descended. Monica looked at her brother with appreciation; that was quite the summation he had made. He'd always been good at analyses like that, except when he got too worked up. Right now he was holding Rachel's gaze, oblivious to the rest of the world, and that made Monica feel good, too. Ross deserved peace and happiness as much as any of them, and Monica felt ecstatic anew that he had found those things with Rachel.  
  
"Yeah," Joey finally said after a couple of minutes. "That's what makes me think I'll be all right in California. I learned so much from you guys, enough to know that I can make it on my own now. But," and here he looked at Phoebe, "if you guys ever need anything, ever, I'll come running."  
  
Phoebe smiled gently. "I know. And thank you. It goes both ways, too. Let us know if you need help."  
  
Joey looked around, and there it was on his face, the realization that this was it. Monica felt her chest tighten again. In one corner of her mind she railed bitterly at this moment, that it was here when it should never have arrived. But another, stronger part of her knew that it was inevitable, and while it was painful it was also right and good. For Joey, for all of them.  
  
Joey stood up and the hugs began. The each seemed to last an eternity, and when Monica got hers from Joey, she found herself clinging to him for dear life, and only with the greatest effort could she let him go.  
  
Rachel began gathering her supplies while Ross bundled up a sleepy Emma. Rachel made her way to the front of the coffee house, where Ursula and, to Monica's surprise, Gunther were chatting. Rachel spoke softly to Ursula, who at first looked guarded and suspicious, but ended up accepting one of Rachel's new business cards. Monica wondered at the exchange, but decided not to interfere. Rachel had always been the one with the gift to connect with anyone, and Monica didn't want to get in the way of that.  
  
Monica began packing her own things as Ross and Rachel left. Erica and Jack had, thankfully, remained asleep the entire time, but that was certain to change soon. Phoebe and Mike gathered up Ursula and they left. Gunther, Monica noticed, looked mildly happy as he said goodbye to Ursula.  
  
Finally she had packed up the babies and the assorted paraphernalia. Chandler carried Erica while Monica carried Jack. Monica paused at the entrance, looking back at Joey. He was just standing there, looking around. Monica looked up at Chandler. They smiled at each other, and by mutual assent left. She knew Joey would be fine by himself.  
  
They made their way back to the car, and to the life that awaited them in Westchester.  
  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
Joey Tribbiani stood in the middle of the mostly-empty coffee shop. In the near silence he could hear the echoes of ten years and more.  
  
"Of course it was a line," he said softly to the couch. The couch responded with mute disapproval.  
  
Joey smiled slightly. Then he took a deep breath, turned, and left Central Perk. Ahead lay California, Gina, and Hollywood.  
  
But although Joey left New York behind him, he knew with unfailing certainty he carried with him the spirits of his friends.  
  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  
  
(the end)  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry this took so long. You won't believe the number of times I rewrote the Ross/Rachel scene. I wanted to get it right, but in the end I was not totally happy with the way it worked out. If you have any ideas on how to improve it, let me know. I am always, always open to suggestion.  
  
I'd like to thank everyone for their kind words of encouragement during the writing of this story. It is, in its own way, my farewell to Friends, a series I have greatly enjoyed for many years. I wish I could express myself better; my own writing could never quite satisfy the way Kaufmann and Crane could.  
  
As always, any thoughts or suggestions you have, I'd love to hear about. 


End file.
